


Very Rain of Sparrows, A

by Dwimordene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Kings, Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Drama, Plot - Can't stop reading, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Economics, Subjects - Explores obscure facts, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Well-handled dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2005-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwimordene/pseuds/Dwimordene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peace. Land. Life. Loyalty.<br/><br/>A Kin-Strife parable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Eastshore

" _Name any tree that you love and it shall stand till it dies._ "  
  
—Tar-Aldarion, 6th King of Númenor  
  
" _To the Queen is reserved the Right of Erendis, that each year she may make a tithe of trees that grow upon crown land, in honor of and restitution to Yavanna. Thenceforth, unless the Queen rescind the tithe, none shall cut living wood within the bounds that she has dedicated._ "  
  
—Tar-Elendil, "The Great Charter of the Realms in Exile", 3320 of the Second Age, Arnor  
  
" _Be it known henceforth that the folk of the Eastshore shall be beholden directly to the King of Gondor, in recognition of service rendered him in the war against the pretender. And its people shall in perpetuity hold their land from him and his heirs as bonded men, and render it useful and prosperous as servants of the Crown._  
  
—entry in the _Registry of Royal Grants_ , the year 1438 of the Third Age, Gondor  
  
  


***

_16th of March, 1447 of the Third Age_

"Aetho." The voice in the darkness called him, and the boy grunted, pulling his blankets higher. "Aetho, lad, wake tha up." A hand was added to the voice, and eleven year-old Aethrin batted irritably at it, then groaned as the covers were stripped from him. "Get tha up!"

"G'way, Fardhan!" Aethrin complained querulously, curling up into a ball as the cold, damp air of morning raised the gooseflesh on bare skin. There came the sound of a match striking, and even in the darkness with his eyes squeezed shut, he was aware of the candle's light near his face.

"Up tha, lad, it's time and time past," his brother said, patting him on the cheek. "I've got the wood for Mam already set to, and she'll be soon calling us to eat."

At that, Aethrin forced his eyes open and sat up. "Tha's readied the wood?" he repeated, and glanced out the unshuttered window at the deep blue sky. "It's that late 't'again?" he asked.

"Not so late. But late 't'enough. Get tha dressed," his brother said, and handed him his clothes. Aethrin, anxious still, took them as he stood, and hurried to pull his trousers on, hopping awkwardly sideways on one leg so as not to be in Fardhan's way of making their bed. Despite his brother's assurances, he thought unhappily of his mother's reproach should she hear of his sluggishness lately. The folk of the Eastshore villages were loggers, woodsmen and fisherfolk who wasted no daylight, nor even darkness, and Aethrin had known no other life.

Especially since Queen Sorrían's tithe had sent the Rangers to Eastshore four years ago, and left the Eastshore unmanned, nearly, all fall and winter and a good part of spring, there was no love for laggards. For the men and boys of age were taken far to the north to do the logging needed against the raids and trials of the pretender, leaving the younger lads like Aethrin and the women to struggle against weather and earth and river, to do the work that must be done to do their duty in the Eastshore by the Crown's charter.

Which meant that even more than in the past, there was no time to waste, and so he made haste to tie his breeches and pull his shirt—one of Fardhan's old ones that was still too large for Aethrin—over his head. But even as he berated himself for sloth, he was reminded why, these days, he preferred to sleep if only he could: his stomach cramped painfully, and he swallowed a curse that even Fardhan would've slapped him for. Still, he whimpered a little, and a hand went unthinkingly to his belly. Fardhan glanced up from tidying their blankets, and gave him a concerned look.

"Aethrin?" he asked.

"Naught," Aethrin replied hastily, and tried to mask the gesture by bunching the excess cloth in his hand as he reached for the old bit of braided rope that served him as a belt. Funny thing to him, that as he grew older, he needed less of it to hold his shirt in place, and he wondered whether he ought to cut it or knot it double and tuck the ends back in.

 _Mam would have herself a fit if I cut it_ , he decided, and so tied the rope double and let the ends dangle. Things had to last, and there might come a day when Aethrin would be needing that extra length. Thrift being a virtue every Eastshoreman was raised to, he did not wish to trouble either his mother or the old roper, who would want a fee for his work. Aethrin had none; indeed, few folk had such, and certainly not for such silly things as a new belt when an old one would do. "I'm ready, then."

"Then let's fetch the water and set 't'out the traps," Fardhan said, then added, giving Aethrin a critical look, "And wash tha the face—tha's crust 't'about the eyes!"

" _Tha's_ got hair sticking out strange-like," Aethrin retorted. His brother ran a hand through his unruly curls, then shrugged.

"Wind'll muss it 't'anyways. Come!"

In the kitchen, which was most of the house, in fact, they found the table set already, and their mother shoveling last night's ashes from the hearth. "Give tha good day, and we'll be not 't'a moment, Mam," Fardhan said, pausing in the doorway with Aethrin.

"Well you shouldn't—sun's nearly arisen," Alweth replied. "Go you good, and hurry now!"

"Aye, Mam." With that, Fardhan collected the two pails, handed one to Aethrin, and shepherded his younger brother out the door. Past the oven they went, which glowed a merry red now thanks to Fardhan's preparations, past the little cluster of rough-shingled, wooden houses, past the Rangers standing bored and sleepy at their posts, and down the little muddy path to the riverbank beyond the fishing boats they went, Aethrin letting the pail swing as he went. The hollow beat of the wood against his shins drummed out their morning walk, and Fardhan shook his head at that.

"Tha'll bring the Rangers to see what sounds."

"They know 'tis us. They just saw us. And they've been here long enough, they have, to know a little," Aethrin replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Aye, they've been here long enough tha ought t' know they'll come even so and hear tha speak so of them. Hush tha, then, or they'll have a word for tha and Mam about tha's tongue," Fardhan warned, sternly. "And tha knows who'd have it, eh?"

Aethrin grunted unhappily, but he did still the pail and bite his lip against complaint. True enough, the King's Rangers might come looking no matter what. And if they did, they'd take it ill to hear a beardless lad with hardly any letters say what they ought to know. Worse yet, it'd be Calandil they sent round to speak with Alweth on the matter, and Aethrin, like Fardhan, did not much like the thought of that.

 _Who's he t' come round Mam like that, 't'all honey-tongued and acting like my Da?_ Aethrin sniffed inwardly. Not that he had ever known his father, Faladan, for he'd been born the last year of the war, but Fardhan had, and Fardhan was wont to complain of Calandil to Alweth when none of the greencoat Rangers were about to hear it.

"What's that, then? Can't 't'even make sense of him! He's so much the Westshore it drips off his tongue and sticks in the ears. He's not like Da was—Da was straight with tha, spoke tha plain like an Eastshoreman ought!"

"Tha's father's gone, son, rest him ever, but tha's mother's long alone and wearies of widow's weeds," Alweth would reply.

"Then find tha a man here!" Fardhan would plead. "What's to have from Calandil that none here wouldn't give an honored widow? Tha'd not make that 't'a father to tha's sons, surely!"

And Alweth would say, firmly, "Tha's got 't'a father, surely, and one right 't'as rigged; Calandil knows this for he serves the king."

"Eh. Calandil ent dead serving him, neither," Fardhan would retort. "Not like Da."

It never went anywhere, that argument—for all that mother and son got red in the face with anger over it, neither would be moved, and so Calandil kept coming about and Fardhan cursed him the more come the night and the door between him and Alweth. Aethrin shook his head. Troubling as it was to him to see his mother and brother at such odds, it was simply one more wrong thing in a world of troubles. He had his own work to do, even in the stormy quiet between winter and spring, and lately, it was work enough just ignoring his stomach without the distraction of such arguments.

 _For 'tis river run time again,_ he reminded himself. _Just 't'as soon as the Rangers do come._ Once the ice further north upon the river, up near the king's logging grounds, melted, as it usually did by this time of year, then all the Eastshoremen and some crownlanders well beyond it would be gathered to float the fall and winter logs downstream to Minas Anór, Osgiliath, and Pelargir. Hard work, cold, and dangerous, and not simply because of the usual sorts of accidents that could befall a man walking the enormous trunks of trees down the Anduin. With the pretender stirring up trouble to the north, raids could happen. Fardhan, who had been three seasons in the north, had finally seen one last year, when the raiders had at last come in close enough to threaten the main camp where the younger men worked.

"Close it 't'was," he had said when Aethrin had asked him about it, and his face had darkened with the memory. "Such a noise as I've not heard since. And the smell... sap and bodies, both in the smoke..." Beyond that, his brother would say no more, but everyone knew he was one of the lucky ones: there were five men from the Eastshore who had not come home this year, and three of them had fallen to the raiders, who had sent flames racing through the encampment. For Eastshoremen, the loss of so many logs last year was at the back of much debt and hunger this year, and who knew whether the spring run would not fare as badly?

But dangerous or not, river run brought a little coin in, and so more of supper than might otherwise be had. The return on such labor was still not as much as it needed to be—the Ship Tax levy on timber grew yearly, leaving less and less that might actually be sold, even without the depredations of the pretender's men. But there was some, if the year was good, and then there was less need to sell supper across river for the coins the crown's treasury men wanted for Charter Tax. Though Aethrin did not want Fardhan to leave again, and so soon after coming home to winter awhile with them, there was no denying that without the work he did, their own would not be enough to keep them from season to season.

The little path bent right about a stand of trees, turning west directly and before them, Anduin spread itself out, broad and grey, with a hint of glitter in the dawnlight. The sun was just rising behind them, and Fardhan held out a hand for the pail. Aethrin surrendered it, then scampered off a ways upstream to set the snapleg traps for the dawn catch.

A little ways up the river, where the reeds were thick and the trees grew close up to the shore, lay some two dozen net traps, some already in the water, others as yet unused. Picking among them were three other lads, while out on the river with a pair of traps was one of the girls, which made Aethrin grin in relief. It seemed he was not the only one late, for there ought to be three or four more come to cast the traps out.

"Give tha good day, Aetho," one of the lads called out.

"And to tha, Meithel," Aethrin replied, greeting the others with a nod and quickly searching out his own trap.

"What knot's it to be today?" asked Meithel, as Aethrin joined him on the shore and began rolling up the legs of his breeches.

"Star," Aethrin replied.

"Gilly's a'ready got that," his friend replied.

"I do, and if tha's not 't'a want for a sore ear, 'tis 'Gilriel'," the lass replied, and shot the pair a glare as she clambered out of the water, wringing out the hem of her skirts and untying the sashes that had held them up about her thighs.

"Ah, shut it, lass, tha's not my Mam," Meithel replied dismissively, but grinned at Aethrin, who quickly looked down, that no other see him smile. Most lads knew to stay clear of Gilriel and her temper, but there were always a few who never learned the lesson, or else who liked too well to needle her and the other girls. Meithel was one such, and Aethrin could admit it was amusing to watch the two insult each other, at least 'til it came to blows, as it sometimes did.

Or rather, _had_. Lately, ever since she'd turned thirteen, Gilriel had been wont to give herself airs, playing as if she were a lady, and so would storm off like the Queen herself with her chin held high as ladies were supposed to do, and all without raising a fist.

"Thinks she's the catch of the town, she does," Meithel was wont to say behind her back.

To which Fardhan, when Aethrin told him of it, had said only, "She's got 't'eyes, she does; lasses get t' growing quick—quicker 'n lads."

"What's that mean?" Aethrin had demanded.

But Fardhan, after a moment, had waved it all away. "Naught. No denying she's a catch now. Mayhap not _the_ catch, but _t'a_ catch. Hope she is caught 't'and soon and by one of ours—'t'would be a pity if she went to Pelargir."

"With one of the Rangers, tha means?" Aethrin had asked, for though King's Men in clothes, a number of the Rangers were Pelargir greencoats by birth, as folk were wont to say. That in itself might have kept many from the Eastshore from joining their ranks, did not law ban those not of Dúnadan blood from it. Marriage, however, was a more forgiving institution—there had been a number of lasses from the Eastshore who had wed with Dúnedain Rangers, especially in the past few years, much to the disappointment of many a young Eastshoreman.

"Nah, lad. Her blood's here and she'd not betray it. But she'd get herself to Pelargir for her kin." Which did not truly explain anything to Aethrin, but whatever it meant, it was clearly bad. Worse, in a way, than lasses marrying the king's greencoat Rangers. Folk said it in whispers, or bemoaned it and many were the dark and dreadful looks that greeted such news, and the coins that came across the river were received with tears.

Despite that, Anduin's riverbed saw little of that money, for it meant less trouble paying the Charter and Ship Taxes. Besides, folk said, otherwise "it" would've been for naught. Aethrin could not imagine what a lass like Gilriel—or truly, any of the lasses in the Eastshore—would do in Pelargir if they weren't married. Hard enough to find a spot in a crafthall for a lad, it was, but nevertheless, he'd come to fear such news, and even of Gilriel, he'd not be glad to hear the words.

"Eh? Aetho, tha's tying what today?" Meithel pressed just then, and Aethrin blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

And since Gilriel was eyeing him with a frown now, he said simply, "If Gilriel's star knots, I've darning needle loops."

"That's a lass's knot," Meithel sniffed. "Tha ought t' change with Gilly."

"Eh, too much trouble," Aethrin said quickly, before Gilriel could let fly with a barb sharp as the look on her face. "Lass's knot 't'or no, none's got them yet, 't'and Fardhan'll be waiting for me."

"That one! Hovers like a bird on her egg, he does," Meithel replied, shaking his head. "Wish he'd hatch whatever worry he's nesting this year past!"

"Good he does hover," Gilriel broke in imperiously, and poked at Meithel's bony chest. "Tha'd be lucky to have a brother like that. Keep tha from troubling others! And _tha_ —" she added, hands on hips as she turned on Aethrin, who had been grinning over Meithel's reprimand "—tha ought not to be about this one. Gives tha's brother grief, it does likely!"

Aethrin coughed at that, and quickly finished tying his knots in the end of the rope, then secured it to a stake in the ground. "Coming?" he asked Meithel pointedly, hoping that business would put them out of range of Gilriel and any further lectures.

"Was waiting on tha," Meithel replied breezily, and gestured largely toward Anduin. Together, then, the boys waded out a ways into the river, pushing aside reeds, hissing as they went, for the water was frigid this time of year, and so early in the day. Long, sickly green leaves tickled their legs, and the riparian sands shifted underfoot.

Awkward herons they looked, stepping high and carefully, 'til the water was above their knees. Some five yards out, past the clumps of reeds, they stopped, and heaved their traps as far as they could; weighted by stone, the traps sank down beneath the surface.

"Think they'll catch much?" Meithel asked.

"I hope so," Aethrin replied, thinking of snaplegs and feeling his mouth water. Not that he'd get to eat them—they sold too well across the river, where all the shipyards and merchants frightened the snaplegs away. But they would pay for a meal or two, perhaps, if Castamir's Charter Tax and the fat merchants in Pelargir did not eat the profits whole.

 _If we catch any_ , Aethrin amended glumly, for it was early yet in the season and the snaplegs were sparser than in summer, and smaller as well. _Everything's sparser, snaplegs, coin, grain, men..._ Men, indeed, for land-bonded or no, hard times meant that folk sought ways off of crown land, and lately, the young men especially were taking them when they could.

"Ent right," older folk said, "leavin' Eastshore after buyin' it with our blood so dear!" But none could stop the flight, for no one wished to labor in the woodland camps up north when there was still the Charter Law to serve at home. Better to leave altogether, and so every spring the past few years, even as folk clung the harder to house and hearth, one missed a few more faces. In a town of woodsmen, about the only thing one didn't miss were the trees, which grew thicker than ever under Erendis' law...

"Aetho!" Fardhan's voice sounded then, and Aethrin turned to see his brother standing there beneath the trees with the water pails at his feet.

"Coming!" he called back, then turned to Meithel. "Watch my trap 'til I'm back."

"Surely," his friend replied. "Go tha good."

"My thanks," Aethrin replied. By the time he'd made his way back to shore, the other trappers had arrived and were arguing over knots as well, lads and lasses both. With a wave for the other children, Aethrin brushed at the bits of rotting reeds that had clung to his goosefleshed legs and got between his toes, and rolled his trousers down. Wiping his hands on them, then, he straightened up and nodded at Fardhan.

"All's set. Meithel'll check my trap," he reported, and his brother grunted, though he frowned as well.

"Good. Here, then" said Fardhan, and reached out and caught his chin. Wetting one hand with water from the pail, he wiped then at Aethrin's eyes, while his younger brother protested. "Hush tha and hold still!"

"I'm not 't'a babe!" Aethrin said, though he obeyed the order.

"Ne, tha's not, 't'and tha looks a mess. So hush tha and let me do this, or Mam'll have at tha." Which threat successfully forestalled all complaints, for no lad who'd more than eight years wished to come under the fussy attention of his mother. "There. Let's be off, then." So saying, Fardhan took both pails in hand and left Aethrin to hurry along after him.

"Give me one," Aethrin said, holding out a hand for a bucket.

"Tha'd spill it."

"Wouldn't!" Aethrin shot back instantly, offended. "I've not slopped a pail since I'd seven years!"

"'Tis too heavy for tha."

"No it 't'ent."

"'Twould do tha a hurt."

"Ne, would not!" Aethrin scowled suspiciously up at his brother, ere he said accusingly, "Tha's got strange, just late like."

"Have not."

"Has."

"Have not." Fardhan's mouth twitched tellingly, which only made Aethrin scowl the harder.

"Has!"

"Have not."

"Aye, tha _has_! Tha's waked early and left me sleeping since tha got back three weeks past; tha's got like Mam with this washing me mornings and combing and suchlike, and now tha won't let me touch a pail, but 't'I'll be hauling full nets not 't'a month coming! And tha prates all the time about Rangers—" and since that was so, Aethrin's voice sank to a whisper on that last "—and even Meithel's got talking about tha."

"Has he, now?" Fardhan asked, mildly, and Aethrin glared at him.

"He has. Year past, he said, tha's been hatching worry. Tha's somewhat in the heart, tha has." And when his brother simply lengthened his stride and kept walking, Aethrin, frustrated, cried out: "Fardhan!"

Fardhan sighed and stopped. He set the pails down, flexing his fingers, and glanced first one way and then another, seeming to seek out any who might be listening. But there was no one to see, not even a guard, and so Fardhan turned back to face Aethrin fully.

"Aye, lad, I've somewhat in the heart, 't'and it'll stay there, hear?" his brother said, in a tone to quell all questions, and Aethrin blinked, surprised. Fardhan had not spoken thus before to him, and somewhat in his voice made him seem much older than his fifteen years in that moment.

"Hear it, 't'aye," Aethrin muttered, lowering his eyes.

"Good. Come tha, then, for Mam's waiting with breakfast." With that, Fardhan stooped, retrieved the water pails, and continued on up the path. After a moment, Aethrin followed, for however strange his brother's recent behavior to him, in these days hunger was the fiercer goad than curiosity.

Upon their return, they found the table ready for them. Fardhan unbent enough to let Aethrin help him pour one of the pails into the iron kettle set beside the fire, then both of them went to stand before their customary places: Fardhan at the foot of the table, and Aethrin to his left. Alweth took the heart's seat.

For a short time, they stood in silence, each of them gazing west towards the empty head of the table, until Alweth broke the Silence with a murmured, "So let 't'our day begin." Then Fardhan and Aethrin sat, while their mother began serving porridge out of a small pot. There was flatbread for them, and also a bit of dried fish, and a little milk from Dame Eldrith's goat.

As soon as Alweth seated herself, Aethrin eagerly attacked his breakfast, wolfing down the porridge, and if it were thin, he hardly cared. Breaking his wafer of bread in half, he used it rather than the spoon, determined to let nothing cling to the sides of the bowl. It was only when Alweth cleared her throat and gave him a rather disapproving stare that he remembered his manners and tried not to gulp his food.

Still, although he made himself chew more slowly, he rolled breakfast about in his mouth to fool his stomach into thinking it got more than it did. Beside him, Fardhan picked at his food, seeming still upset. Had he been less ravenous himself, Aethrin might have thought it odd that anger could rob his brother of an appetite—the winter had been long, and stores meager. But Aethrin had his nose in his bowl, and scarcely noticed aught else.

For a time, breakfast passed in silence as each of them tried to blunt the sharp edge of hunger, but eventually, Alweth set aside her bowl and gave her sons a knowing look. "You're silent too long. Somewhat's between you," she said in a tone of mild reproof, neatly breaking her bread. "I'll not have it so."

"Naught's between us," Fardhan countered immediately, and glanced swiftly at his brother. "Eh, Aetho?"

"Naught," Aethrin echoed around a mouthful of flatbread.

Their mother's expression was severe as she retorted sharply, "I'll not have my sons speak me false under my own roof, either."

"Truly, 'tis naught, Mam," Fardhan protested. "Only Aetho's his belly to think of, and I've somewhat 't'else on the mind."

This seemed to soothe Alweth somewhat, at least as far as Aethrin was concerned, for she but looked once at him before asking of Fardhan, "What so great then, Fardho?"

Fardhan shrugged, ducking his head as he commenced snapping the flatbread, breaking it into tiny pieces. "Just somewhat 't'I've been thinking on awhile, Mam."

"Fardhan—"

"It's naught fit for table."

"Son," Alweth replied sternly, "if tha's thought it so long, it's surely worth saying."

At this, Fardhan sighed, grimacing as he looked up at her. "Mayhap, but 't'I don't know yet, 't'and I ent got 't'a want for long talks this morn. Mal'll be waiting—we're off to Pelargir this day, to see what last night's catch'll fetch. And mayhap see if there's a man on the docks that'll 'prentice us."

"But tha went last month, an' they said tha nay," Aethrin reminded him, unhappily. "And twice after, even!"

"Things change sometimes," Fardhan replied, and then added blithely enough: "An' it's honest work, at least—not like watching folk of thine."

Before Aethrin could speak again, Alweth spoke sharply: "Fardhan, tha'll not use the King's Rangers t' speak sly evil of Calandil."

With a guileless shrug, Fardhan answered, "I but said carting at docks is better than greencoat spying in woods on tha's own in a king's cloak. There's none as don't say it 't'ent right for them to take aught t' keep us out 't'of our own woods and send us far away north when we've got the charter still to keep even so! Or ent we King's Men, Mam, just like them?"

"They're the Queen's woods now—the King's hands're bound, an' we'll speak no more of that 't'or of the Rangers," Alweth replied, still with an edge to her tone. "And tha just be grateful there's work t' do, an' a home t' come back to when it's done."

"Aye, Mam." Fardhan immediately bowed his head, though the air still crackled with his anger.

"We've enough else to talk of," Alweth said after a moment, deliberately changing the subject. "How much for the night's catch, think tha?"

"Not 't'enough, that's certain," Fardhan replied unhappily. "Likely not 't'even enough t'pay 'prentice fees."

"Then why go over there again?" Aethrin asked, unable to help himself.

"A man's his duties to king and kin, an' one without coin cannot do them; give no insult to tha's brother, who does his duty," Alweth rebuked him before Fardhan could begin to answer. She broke a corner from her flatbread and chewed it, gazing at Aethrin in a measuring way the while. At length, she continued in a milder voice, "Indeed, 'tis time tha learned somewhat of that, lad. Fardhan, tha'll take Aethrin with tha this time, eh? Let him see, and mayhap they've a need for lads in the harbor."

At that, Aethrin sat up straight, eyes wide as he swallowed quickly. "Me?" he asked, anxiously, even as Fardhan protested:

"Mam, Pelargir's no place for him, a land-bonded lad a master must pay the more for—"

"Take tha's brother, Fardho," Alweth said firmly, in a tone that brooked no refusal. "Aethrin, 'tis time. Eleven is old enough t' work, if there's work t' be done. Tha'd've been at Faladan's side and tha's brother's, learning woodcraft, were tha's father here still."

"An' it's a spear he'll be learning in the north, grace be t' the Queen's cursed law," Fardhan retorted under his breath.

"What's that then?" Alweth demanded, eyes narrowing.

But Fardhan did not answer, saying only: "Naught, Mam. I'll take Aetho with us. Eh, we're late ‘t’already. Here, lad, soon as tha's finished that porridge, wrap the rest in a kerchief an' we're off."

Aethrin did not bother to speak, only nodded as he hurriedly downed the rest of his breakfast. Fardhan quickly wrapped his own up and tucked it into his scrip, then brought his bowl to the tub, that Alweth might wash it. Their mother, in the mean time, rose, dabbed her lips with her apron, and disappeared into the nook where her bed lay. A moment later she was back with a comb, and, to Aethrin's vast amusement, began attempting to set Fardhan in order.

"Ah, Mam!" Fardhan groaned, but Alweth was quick, and he grasped at air.

"Tha'll but make a stroke and then put it by. Still tha, then, I'll have no son of mine go before a master looking a cur," Alweth replied. At that, Aethrin could not but smirk, though he took care to lower his face, that his brother not see it. And he laid what remained of his fish between the bits of flatbread he had left, then folded the lot into a napkin and scampered up the ladder to the tiny loft he shared with his brother. There, he grabbed a small pouch on a long string off of its hook, dropped his lunch into it, and then stuffed the pouch into his shirt, after looping the cord round his neck.

Upon his return to the kitchen, Fardhan was nowhere to be seen, although Alweth was clearing the table. "Bye, Mam!" Aethrin said, dashing for the door, in hope of escaping the comb himself.

"Take tha's shoes, Aetho," his mother called after him, and Aethrin checked himself enough to stoop and snatch them up without slowing overmuch. "Mind tha's brother, now! Pelargir's not the Eastshore!" Alweth's voice floated after him into the morning sun, and Aethrin glanced back to see her lean out the door, waving him off.

"Aye, Mam, I shall!"

It was, perhaps, a fateful promise. But it was not for Aethrin to think on such, for he rejoined his brother, then, who laid an arm about his shoulders and said, "Aye, tha'll mind me. Pelargir's no kind place. So do tha what ‘t’I say, eh?"

"Aye, Fardhan."

"Good lad." So saying, the two made for the riverbank once more.


	2. The Weather On the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace. Land. Life. Loyalty.

" _It is ordered henceforth that within the demesne of the Lord of Pelargir, none shall sell beyond the open markets of Pelargir, unless under the mark of the guildhalls of that city._ "  
  
—"Resolutions Concerning the Guildhalls", _Trade Laws of Pelargir_ , 1442 of the Third Age  
  


***

 

"Hey, Aetho, what's this, then?" Meithel asked, when Aethrin returned. Perched upon the lowest branch that overhung the river, the other lad cocked his head at him, and gestured to the shoes that Aethrin still carried, fingers hooked into the heels. "Tha's got 't'a marriage to beg?" he asked, grinning slyly.

"I'm to go with Fardhan over the river," Aethrin replied, glancing around a moment before he found his darning needle loops, and, setting his shoes down, grasped the rope and began pulling his trap in.

"To Pelargir?" Meithel sat up straight at that.

"Aye. Mam says 'tis time I looked for a master who'd want me."

"Eh. Hard t' find, those."

Aethrin shrugged. "Mayhap."

"No 'mayhap' about it," Meithel replied, as he began crawling back along the branch towards the shore. And when he'd gone far enough to miss the reeds, he slid off of it, cursing a bit when he stubbed a toe on a rock. But he limped over to Aethrin, who by now had reeled in the trap, and was examining its contents.

"Not many snaplegs today. Too cold and bright," he said, and then continued, "Been a long time since any lad of ours got himself 'prenticed in Pelargir."

"Take lads all the time, they do, for the navy or logging on the king's lands."

"I mean in crafthalls, not king's ships or wood camps. Got 't'enough lads in the city that ‘t’ent bound to their land, so the masters there don't need the likes of us."

"Eh, an' neither do they that 't'are here, for we lads ent much for making pay on Charter Tax," Aethrin replied, hoisting the trap in one hand and scooping up his shoes once more. To which, Meithel could make no rejoinder, and the other boy merely grunted.

"So, then... tha'll be back this evening?"

"I think so," Aethrin said. "We ent got the coin, to stay over there. Mal and Fardho, they'll sell what they can an' turn right 't'about, likely."

"Wish we didn't have to sell to the Westshore. Lord Vorondur likes it right well we come begging to Pelargir, likely," Meithel grumbled, and spat in his lordship's honor. "Good thing we're all King's Men now, not Pelargir's. I ent 't'ever going west ‘t’of Anduin. Wouldn't 't'even if I could," he declared staunchly, sounding for all the world like one of Eastshore's greybeards. Aethrin snorted, but said only:

"Well, I've got t' go, and now or Fardhan'll be angry, else. Go tha good, Meitho!"

"Keep tha good over there, eh?" Meithel called, and Aethrin raised his arm—the one not encumbered with the trap—in acknowledgment ere he scurried off to where the boats lay.

Malgath and Fardhan had got the baskets of fish carefully balanced on either end of the boat, and scales gleamed silver in the sunlight. Malgath it was who noticed him first, and waved—his brother's friend had a sunny way with folk. Aethrin liked him well, though it made Fardhan's mood seem that much more black by comparison.

"What's tha there, eh, Aetho?" Malgath asked.

"Not much," Aethrin said as he approached, holding up the trap as evidence. The half dozen snaplegs within waved their pincers, and Fardhan grunted in disgust as he poked at one.

"Can't be helped. Not the season for them, truly. But into the boat with tha. The middle, there," Fardhan ordered after a moment, and Aethrin made haste to obey. Malgath and Fardhan each took a side of the boat and began shoving it out of the shallows, before quickly stepping over the siding. Aethrin clutched the snaplegs close as the little craft wobbled a bit, but then it slid smoothly into the deeper waters, drifting southerly with the current as the older lads turned the prow towards Pelargir, taking up the oars to speed their journey.

"So, lad, fancy to be a ship's boy?" Malgath asked after awhile.

"Mam said find work in the harbor," Aethrin replied. His brother's friend clicked his tongue at him, and Aethrin yelped suddenly. "Mal!" he complained, rubbing his arm where Malgath had pinched him. "Should sell tha with the snaplegs!"

Mal chuckled. "Might turn a crown off me, then—only way t' do it, eh Fardho?"

At that, Fardhan shook his head and retorted, "Wouldn't pay a brass tack for tha!"

"Be more than naught 't'at 't'all," Mal replied with what Aethrin thought unwonted mirth. But then Malgath let it drop, and returning to the matter at hand, continued: "Carting and lading's hard work, lad. Tha's not grown enough for it. Tha wants t' work 'tis the ships or naught, 't'and tha so young, it's ship's boy or naught. So, think tha's got t'a want to be ship's boy?"

"Dunno. I'd not thought 't'on it before," Aethrin confessed, with a shrug. "What's there to it?"

"This and that—cook, courier, captain's lad to keep things neat like, whatever's needed," Malgath replied. "Four years on the water for the king, and then tha'd be a seaman."

Aethrin grunted and shrugged, and though he did not say it, four years seemed a long while to be away... "Was Da a ship's boy, then, Fardhan?" he asked suddenly, struck by a thought.

"Ne," his brother replied. "Da was a woodsman that went north with the army when the king called, when he'd promised us aid against Pelargir."

"Oh," he said, deflating a bit.

"Eh, what is it, 't'Aetho?"

"Naught. Only being ship's boy seemed better, when I thought he was one," Aethrin answered, and Malgath chuckled, though not unkindly.

"Work is work, eh? Better or worse, it's coin," said he. "An' tha's to _find_ a ship to take tha first!"

"What if I can't?" Aethrin asked.

"Then tha's got luck much as the rest of us," Fardhan replied. "They ent got 't'a want for much from us but gold and timber, and them we ent got! Curse that tart 't'of a lass the king took t' wife—nothing good comes out ‘t’of Pelargir!"

"Save the king," Malgath amended, but to Aethrin's surprise, Fardhan snorted and shook his head. At that, Malgath's voice grew mildly reproving, as he drawled, "Fardhan..."

"Eh, what, man? Tha knows he's wed to that chick the Bird-keeper hatched. What good's that?"

"No worse than could've been—"

"No worse? Tha hears tha's self, Mal?" Fardhan asked, shooting an incredulous glance over his shoulder, and Aethrin, recognizing that tone, sighed inwardly, tucked his hands under himself, and laid his chin atop the snapleg trap, making himself as small as he could, wishing he could disappear. He had long since learned to keep out of such arguments about the wisdom of a man who'd take Lady Sorrían of Pelargir to wife, for such inevitably ended badly, with one man reminding the other of Eastshore's debt to Castamir, for freeing them from Vorondur, and the other claiming the king himself was shackled to all that greedy house in marriage.

Fardhan, though, heedless of Aethrin's discomfort, continued: "Hadn't she got the throne, she'd not have done her Da a service, and we'd be home and 'prenticed to our own folk in our own craft in our own land. The king wants ships—well, we've trees aplenty for them, always have, after all, but she'll claim her due by Erendis, t' save what trees she likes. An' so she likes ours, of course, for we like our freedom from her Da an' his graspers. Sly she is—king her husband bound us to him and to Eastshore, and she's made misery of blessing!"

"Eldacar's queen might've done worse—driven us out ‘t’of our land t’ give place t’ the outlanders. Tha knows how they came t' Pelargir, had folk leavin' before the king turned 'em back to their lands," Malgath argued in turn. But he leaned forward then, reaching past Aethrin to lay a hand on his friend's shoulder, and he gave Fardhan a shake. "Eh, let it go, Fardho. Let tha's tongue too loose, an' it'll carry tha to trouble straight."

"On the water there's none to hear but tha and Aetho. And if you'll say naught, ‘t’I'll watch my tongue come landfall," Fardhan replied. Reaching back with one hand, he patted Aethrin's leg and said, "Hear that, 't'Aetho?"

"Aye, I do."

"Good. Say tha naught, then, about the Eastshore's troubles. Not one word, lad. Pelargir's acrawl with Vorondur's greencoats, an' plenty of King's Men. So just like home, tha's got t' keep things quiet, like. Hear?"

"I'll say naught, Fardhan, I promise," Aethrin replied, fervently, only too glad to leave that matter well alone.

"Good. And mind tha, too, don't pay any heed to what folks there say of Eastshorefolk."

"I won't," Aethrin assured him. But then, struck by curiosity, he asked, "What would they say?"

"That we're filthy rebels, for one," Mal replied. "They ent forgot we stood up t' old Vorondur three years, us an' all the old vale folk down round Dor-en-Ernil, too. Took the king to settle it—us with him in the fight, an' he'd give us our release from old Vorondur's clutches. That's how Eastshore came to be crown land."

"I _know_ that," Aethrin replied, eleven year-old pride offended by this lecture in common Eastshore lore. "I do know how we were made King's Men."

"Eh. And so do they," Fardhan grunted. "An' they don't much like it. So keep tha's tongue in, for they don't remember us kindly."

"Aye, Fardho," Aethrin replied. But then, after a moment, he asked, hesitantly, "But if they hate 't'us, why do they trade with us?"

"They don't trade much—tha knows it in the belly, they don't trade much," Fardhan replied darkly.

"Ne, they don't trade much with us. But men always want to save a penny, what with the Ship Tax in Pelargir being so high," Malgath intervened, speaking a bit less vehemently.

"An' we sell cheap," Fardhan finished, bitterly.

"Way things are, Fardho. Naught the likes of us can do t' change it." Fardhan merely grunted, and Aethrin heard Malgath sigh softly.

After that, an awkward silence settled, broken only by the rush of the river, and the waters' swirling about the oars. Aethrin reached out to trail his fingers in the river, staring at the eddies, and he wondered if the fish below were curious about the bubbles.

 _Likely sleeping_ , he thought, and bit his lip as his stomach growled. _Wish I was, too!_ He closed his eyes, wishing he could will away hunger, will away anxiety about Pelargir and 'prenticeships, and the sour mood between his brother and Mal. _Ent we got troubles enough 'thout fighting between us?_ Aethrin complained silently to whatever powers might hear him. He'd never heard Fardhan carry on so, save where Calandil was concerned, though he knew his brother chafed to say more on that score.

How long he sat there, trying to doze, he did not know. But eventually, a hand touched his shoulder, as Mal said: "Up with tha, lad, and look. Pelargir."

Obediently, Aethrin opened his eyes and lifted his chin... and he gasped to see a warship before him, seemingly having sprung up from the very river. Indeed, it was not the only one: there were several of them afloat on the river, and more at dock, all of them flying different colors. Aethrin knew the king's ships out of Osgiliath, for the White Tree was known to all, and he knew Pelargir's ships by their green, and all the vale folk knew Dor-en-Ernil's blue-backed silver swan after the war. But the profusion of other banners—checkered black and white, red striped black and gold, yellow beneath a light blue, to speak of but the most numerous of them—were unknown to him. He had noted them sometimes when ships had passed Eastshore, but he had never learned their home ports, having never paid overmuch attention to such strangers upon the river. The wind tugged at those bright flags, and carried also voices—seamen's rough voices as they went about their business aboard the great ship, seeming heedless of their own tiny boat.

"Seen ‘em on the river. Look bigger up close," Aethrin managed at last. "And so many!"

"Aye, that’s our Ship Tax, right there. Forts on water, they are," Malgath replied, then pointed. "See there? That's the main harbor. We're for the low docks, away yonder. Best get tha's shoes on."

The low docks, it seemed, held all manner of small craft—tiny boats such as Eastshore folk used to catch their supper, and a few larger skiffs, but all of them able to be manned by one or two men. There were quite a lot of them, although Aethrin thought there were not nearly as many people about as he had expected there to be. A dockworker threw them a rope as Fardhan and Malgath steered the boat into a snug berth, and then secured the line. And the man helped them move the baskets, and even took Aethrin's trap from him when it was his turn to scramble out.

"Two pence," the man said curtly, and held out his hand, and Fardhan dutifully handed over the sum. With a nod of his head, the fellow moved off, with a careless, "Good day to you."

And so they came to Pelargir, and Aethrin stared, his gaze drifting up the hillside to the city perched atop it. "Well," Mal said after a moment, "off with us, if we're t' be home this day, eh?"

"Right," Fardhan replied, and hefted one of the baskets. But before Aethrin could take even one step, his brother turned to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, lad. We're for the Row's market square—we'll start there, then go back to the docks. Watch tha that none come too close. There's thieves aplenty down in the Row. And keep out 't'of any quarrels—it's not 't'any business of ours, an' old business at that, likely."

"Aye, Fardhan."

"Be tha sweet 't'as tha can, and mind tha's manners."

"Yes, Fardhan."

"And stay out ‘t’of trouble—"

"I will, I promise," Aethrin interrupted, beginning to weary of this ceaseless warning. Fardhan sighed.

"I promised Da I'd look after tha, when he left ten years ago. Don't tha make a liar of me!" With that final admonition, Fardhan turned and made his way down the docks, towards the lower gates of the city.

 

 

The fashion of Pelargir was thus: about the base of the hill ran a wall, to protect the docks, and those of Pelargir were apt to remark with a sniff that the Rammas Echor at Minas Anor would not have come to be but for Pelargir's wall. A little ways up from those docks upon the river, there were a number of great crafthalls where the shipwrights held court, and then behind them, a stair that led up the tiered levels of the hill—which themselves were like steps carved into the hill for giants and the hillside held in place by steep, stone walls atop which stood archers at intervals—up to the cavernous dockside gates of the city. From that high point over the river, the sentinels of the Lord of Pelargir's keep could see all traffic in ships, and also the plain to shoreside with its farmsteads.

Within the city, roads ran in nested rings, with streets running outward from the main keep—like a great many wheels, folk said. And thus by "spokes" and "rims" were formed the "rows" of Pelargir—enclaves of houses, crafthalls, barracks, and the like.

But to the denizens of the city and all regular traders, _the_ Row meant only the Mariner's Row, which nestled closest to the eastern wall, between I-Belrath and the Street of Blacksmiths. Taverns, guesthouses, pleasure houses, and the great smithies and their guildmasters drew men in, though a large part of it was home to fisherfolk and dockmen, minor crafters and the decrepit. And it was there, of course, that all the rougher sorts of guests went—sailors and merchants, Umbarrim and men off the King's Ships in need of landed entertainment—which meant the Row was always lively.

Or at least it would be lively to one accustomed to such diverse bustle. To Aethrin, trailing along in the wake of his brother and Malgath, it was all a confusion as he tried to weave his way through the press of men and women. Brown and black, green and grey, and the occasional flash of red or blue or yellow were all he could see, in truth, as folk moved by in a hurried blur through air thick with sound and scent: the watery smell of fresh fish and the tantalizing aromas of tavern-fare were heavy, as was the sour smell of sweat, the sharpness of new-tanned leather, all overlaid with the scent of hot metal from the smithies. Dogs barked, cats squawled in alleyways, children wept or shouted, and petty merchants cried out their wares, thrusting themselves into the paths of passers-by, trying to entice them to a purchase.

"Thank tha, no," Aethrin mumbled, as he tried to dodge them, only barely able to grasp what was even being offered half the time.

"Hey, Aetho, keep up!" Fardhan called, and paused a moment to resettle the basket on his shoulder.

"Coming!" Aethrin replied, ducking under a gesticulating merchant as he made haste to rejoin his brother.

"Stay tha close, for we're hard by it," Fardhan warned, as he began walking again.

"Hard by what?" Aethrin asked.

"Market square."

"This ent it?" he asked, incredulously.

"Ne, this is but 't'a street—Rath Limdir. _This_ is the market square," Fardhan replied, with a sweeping wave of his hand as he stepped safely to one side, where a cart offered some shelter from the press. For the three of them had emerged from the street into a broad, crowded yard. There, before the gates of the great guildhalls, folk gathered to trade. A very fair it was, and Aethrin gaped, staring wide-eyed at the tableau before him, for he had never seen so many people, nor imagined them to exist—for all that he knew, the whole world was in Pelargir, and never had it seemed larger to him.

"Tha looks a fish," Mal said gently, and Aethrin, after a moment, shut his mouth.

"We'll to Dame Belith's first, an' then circle round. Listen, Aetho—best to keep close, but go tha to the shipwright's gate do we lose each other," Fardhan said, and Aethrin nodded.

With that, Malgath and Fardhan left their vantage point and plunged into the crowd, and Aethrin bravely followed. As before, he found himself immediately overwhelmed by the noise, although he discovered that if he strained his ears and tried to think of Calandil's manner of speech, he could understand snippets of conversations as he went:

"—promised me ten crowns for this, and I don' mean—"

"—saying, love? Would I do—?"

"—buy that it's needed, but it's not right, I say—"

"—worth more than half a crown—"

"—my words, there's no one else in this, unless it's Umbar, the bastards—"

"—eggs for sale here, not the chicken—"

"—think Amrazar of Dor-en-Ernil would come? He's like the tides, runs both ways, even in the war years—"

"—talk me sweet with _that_ tongue, and I'll—"

"—believe it when his feathered lordship docks in the harbor, not a moment sooner—"

"—cursed guards're like lice, and the Umbarrim—"

"—traitors—"

"—en-Ernil's a traitor—"

"—saying is, 'twas ill done in Osgiliath!"

"Quiet, man, that's the king you're talking about!"

"That's enough, lads!" That last was delivered in an oppressive tone by the leader of a squad of green-liveried guards. Instantly, men drifted apart, one of them holding up his hands, shaking his head, as if to deny there were a problem. Or else to deny that he had said aught wrong, as the guards seemed to converge on him...

"Aethrin!" Fardhan's voice snapped and a hand clamped tightly about his arm as his brother drew him quickly forward.

"What's that 't'about, eh?" Aethrin asked in a worried undertone, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Someone forgot t' mind his tongue. Hey!" Fardhan replied, and Aethrin tore his gaze away from the unhappy confrontation behind him to find his brother staring reprovingly down at him, though he thought that Fardhan seemed troubled, too. "Remember, lad, 'tis not our business."

"Sorry," Aethrin murmured.

"Right then. This way."

At length, they came to a little stall before which lay boxes in which several kinds of fish were laid out: trout mostly, and chub. The grey-haired woman watching over them brightened when she saw Fardhan and Malgath, and gave them a nod. "So my lads, back again so soon?" she asked, by way of greeting.

"Dame Belith," Malgath replied, respectfully. Fardhan merely nodded, as he set his basket down.

"And who is this with you?" Belith asked, looking past them to Aethrin.

"My brother, goodwife," Fardhan replied.

"Oh? Come, let me look at you, lad, you're a bit far for old eyes," she said, and Aethrin, after a moment's hesitation, stepped forward, ducking his head politely, feeling awkward and uncertain. "What is your name?"

"Aethrin, goodwife," he replied.

"Aethrin," she repeated, squinting at him with shrewd black eyes, and Aethrin fought the urge to squirm. Something flickered in those eyes, but then she smiled again, and looked to Fardhan. "So this is your brother that you've spoken of. He's a fine thing, isn't he? Well, then, what have you today? As you can see, lads, I've much already. But are those snaplegs, dear? I can certainly find room for those, yes..."

And so began the haggling. Belith pointed out that she had already much to sell, and that she hadn't much need for more. Malgath replied that she'd plenty of trout, but few barbel, and no wonder, given the many ships about Pelargir.

"Scare them t' Eastshore, straight 't'away," he said. Belith countered that trout were more asked after, and Malgath reminded her that everyone needed a change once in awhile, and besides, she'd be selling to inlanders eventually who'd not know the difference.

And so it went on, and on, and when at last, the sale was made, and coins had changed hands, Belith smiled as she took both baskets and the snaplegs, and said, "Come again, lads. And Fardhan, bring your brother more often—he seems a sweet child."

"Beg tha's pardon, Dame Belith, but 't'Aethrin ent 't'a child—we're all of us wanting work this day," Fardhan replied, which drew a look of blinking surprise from Aethrin both for his unexpected elevation to adulthood and for the rather starchy dignity with which it was proclaimed.

But Dame Belith apparently did not notice his amazement. "Ah, of course," the fishmonger corrected herself quickly. "Good luck to you, then. King's peace upon you!"

The three of them murmured their farewells and then made off again. As soon as they were out of sight of Dame Belith, Fardhan shook his head. "Thirty pennies for the lot," he muttered.

"She bought the snaplegs higher than's her wont," Malgath pointed out.

"Quiet for her conscience—she'll sell 'em for thrice what's she's paid," Fardhan replied, contemptuously.

Aethrin, hearing this, frowned, wondering what Fardhan meant by 'Quiet for her conscience.' Somehow, though, he had a feeling he'd not get an answer, and so he asked instead: "Why did tha not sell as high, then, Mal?"

"Pelargir taverners and outbound traders that'll pay her fee don't buy from us, lad," Malgath replied. "It's the petty merchants or naught 't'at 't'all."

"Why don't they, though?" Aethrin demanded, confused. "Thought tha said they like their coins."

"It's the law. Tha's got to have a merchanters' mark from the guildhouses to sell to out of market in Pelargir," Malgath answered, sounding for once unhappy.

"Why don't we have one?"

Fardhan sighed. "Because, Aetho, we ent Dúnedain, an' there's plenty of vale folk like us in Pelargir that stood with Castamir straight 't'away in the war. Besides, Dame Belith an' all that lot with boats on the low docks like their coins, too, and they've the guildmasters' ears. Not to mention the fleet keepers' pockets!"

"Oh," he said. And then after a moment, burst out, "But that ‘t’ent fair!"

"Market 't'ent fair, lad," Malgath sighed, ere he said, seeming determined to find some good in the deal, "But she _did_ pay more for the snaplegs."

At that, Fardhan merely huffed something unintelligible before he changed the subject: "Now that's done, let's go round Rath Cirdain an' the docks. If we're quick like, we'll be home by nightfall."

And so it was back across the great square, for though their guildhall bordered the market, the shipwrights themselves of course worked and dealt beyond the lower gate, hard by the docks. Aethrin trudged dutifully after his brother, though in truth, he wanted nothing so much as to be back in the Eastshore, or failing that, curled up asleep in the boat. He didn't know why he felt so tired of a sudden, for it was early yet in the day, but for some reason the prospect of facing a lot of scowling sailors filled him with a cringing weariness.

But there was no avoiding the task, and so when they at last had descended back down to the level of the docks and shipwrights, Aethrin pinched his own cheeks and lifted his head, trying to seem alert and eager. The three of them stood at the northern head of a long, curving streetfront, some of which edged the water. Further down, new keels, seeming as the skeletons of the great whales the songs told of, sat dry-docked while tiny, faceless figures of men worked on them, slowly transforming them into warships. Malgath and Fardhan exchanged a look.

"I'll start 't'at Rath Cirdain?" Malgath suggested.

"Aye, an' we'll take the docks. See tha on the lower side by sunset," Fardhan replied, and Mal nodded before he moved off. "Come, Aetho, let's see if there's any to take us."

"What should I do?" Aethrin asked, as he trotted alongside him.

"Just go round to the dockworkers and carters an' see if they've a want for help."

"But they'll not have me, Mal said. An' Meithel an' me, we were talking, and it's true what Meithel said—they ent taken many of us, 'less it's the King's Ships. Shouldn't 't'I ask at them, then, Fardho?"

To Aethrin's surprise, Fardhan hesitated, and when Aethrin looked up in confusion, he found his brother's brow knit, and him biting his lip, as if he wrestled with some grave decision. Aethrin watched anxiously, one eye on his brother, the other on the docks that drew nearer with every step, until at last, he pressed again: "Fardhan?"

At last, Fardhan shook himself, and he glanced over his shoulder once, before he drew Aethrin to a halt and knelt before him. "What's wrong?" Aethrin asked.

"Tha ent begging work on any warship, Aetho," his brother said in a low, urgent voice.

"But Meithel's right, 't'and if I'm no good for naught but 't'a ship's boy, like Mal said—"

"Mal ent tha's brother, nor Meithel, I am. An' I'm saying tha ent 't'asking," Fardhan cut him off. "Ask the merchants and dockhands and carters, but keep tha from the warships."

"Why?"

"Because they ent got 't'a need for tha—plenty of others for that work. An' I told tha I promised Da I'd see tha safe, an' King's Ships ent that, that's why," Fardhan replied firmly. Aethrin swallowed hard, glancing nervously at the busy docks. There were, it seemed, far more warships than merchants berthed there, and many figures in green or the king's black and silver. Which was why he said softly:

"But we've a need for coin. Mam said so—can't be much a man if tha's not coin for duties."

At that, Fardhan sighed in frustration, even as he gripped Aethrin by the shoulders and shook him gently. "Tha'll let me worry on that—since Da's gone, it's my place t' think on that. Tha's just to say tha found naught, if all those others haven't 't'a need for tha, an' let me speak to Mam." And then seeing Aethrin still uncertain, said sharply (and to Aethrin's ears, a bit desperately) at last: "Aetho, tha promised to mind me!"

Which was true enough, Aethrin thought and sighed. But nonetheless, he nodded. "Aye, Fardhan."

"Then tha'll not go to the King's Ships?"

"Ne, I'll not go."

"Right, then," Fardhan replied, sounding relieved. He rose, and gave Aethrin a nod and a bit of a smile, as he said, "When tha's finished, come tha back here an' wait for me." Aethrin murmured that he would, and then Fardhan was away, leaving him to his own devices, and to wonder at his sudden unhappiness, for surely he had no desire to be a ship's boy in the king's navy. But as no answer came to him, he left wondering aside and lifted his chin as he made for the nearest merchant ship.

Thus began an hour of the sheerest misery for Aethrin. Knowing well that no request of his was likely to be granted made it an embarrassment even to ask, though at least he knew to steel himself against the inevitable "No" ahead of time. But even beyond that, Aethrin soon discovered more precisely what Fardhan had meant when he had said that Pelargir was no kind place.

With great temerity he approached the first man, a sailor who was directing several others as they moved supplies off of a barge—a timber hauler out of Lebennin, Aethrin noticed, and felt a stab of resentment over the injustice that Pelargir should import from Lebennin when Eastshore could not cull its own trees. But remembering Fardhan's warning to keep all thought of trouble from his tongue and face, he set that aside and screwed up his courage to beg the man's pardon and work. Alas, neither courage nor manners seemed to have much effect on the sailor.

"Eastshoreman, are you? And what under Varda's blighted stars would I want you for? You Eastshore lot say you'll stand with a man through the thick of matters, and the next day you're asking for release. So now when his majesty needs you, you'll treat the crown like you treated Pelargir and still you'll ask us to pay for you." He shook his head.

"I've a full crew, and though a mule would cost me more than even you land-bonded lads, you couldn't help pull this ship upstream either—milk-mouthed scrawny lad like you," the man told him in a rather irritated, distracted tone. "You, there, watch that!" he called to one of the dockhands, before glancing down at Aethrin with a dismissive wave. "And you, lad, off with you—you've no business here. Ho, there, _watch it_ , I said! Eh, you, lad! You're still here? Begone, I said, there's nothing for you here!"

At that, Aethrin, who had been standing there staring up at him, both stung and stunned by this speech, shook himself and scurried away. And he found a place behind a set of tarred posts where he sank down and clasped his knees and breathed for awhile, feeling all aflutter and not much inclined to continue after that encounter.

 _But Mam said I've t' learn my duty. An' duty means dinner, too,_ he reminded himself. So after a bit, he got up again and determinedly made for the next ship.

Where again, he was told there was no work, although he found the first mate a milder man, who at least troubled to wish him luck after dismissing Aethrin's request as impossible to fill. And so around the docks he went, only to find himself answered with some variation on that first refusal, until he reached the Dor-en-Ernil ships, which seemed clustered to one end of the docks.

Lord Amrazar's men were out in force, it seemed, and none of them seemed welcoming of any stranger's gaze. As he stood there, trying to work up the nerve to approach the rather frightening lot of sailors who were standing about, cutlasses openly upon their hips, guarding several crates of goods that apparently had yet to be moved, a hand landed upon his shoulder.

Startled, Aethrin very nearly leapt out of his skin, but his initial fright swiftly gave way to a near panic at the sight of the green-liveried Pelargir guardsman, who eyed him suspiciously. _One of Lord Vorondur's greencoats_ , he thought, feeling his heart speed.

"You've business here, lad?" the guard demanded tersely, scowling at him, and Aethrin swallowed hard.

"Was just going t' ask if there's work, sir..." Barely had Aethrin said it than the guard replied gruffly:

"There's no work to be had with these lads. On your way, boy."

With a stammered and rather hollow "Thank tha," Aethrin obeyed, and since there were no other merchant ships in the harbor, he made his way back to the north end of docks, there to await Fardhan's return and consider his one piece of good fortune: that the guard had done no more than send him away.

Someone had, in the time he had been away, stacked a number of crates there, and after a moment, he climbed atop a pair of them. Seated on high, so that he could look out over the men bustling about, he finally succumbed to the demands of his growling stomach and pulled the little bag out of his shirt. The remains of breakfast were but a few bites, and he made short work of them, staring mournfully into the empty pouch when he had finished before tucking it away again.

And since Fardhan was nowhere to be seen, and might not finish his business for awhile still, Aethrin lay down and curled up on his perch. The afternoon sun shone brightly, and lulled by its warmth and a long, bewildering day, he fell asleep.

He was not sure how much later it was that he woke to the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hey, Aetho," a voice hailed him some time later. From atop his stack of crates, Aethrin glanced up to see Malgath approaching. "Done already, eh?"

"Aye," Aethrin replied. "And tha? Found tha aught?"

"No luck. Where's Fardhan, then?"

"Away there," Aethrin said, waving vaguely towards the far end of the docks.

"Well, he'll come round soon enough, then," Malgath replied, leaning against the crates. And he looked up at Aethrin with a frown. "Tha's got 't'a long face, lad," he chided gently.

Aethrin shrugged, pursing his lips slightly before he said, "Just that 't'I'm wanting t' be home now, Mal."

"Give it 't'a bit longer, an' we'll be off—tha needs patience only," Mal assured him.

To that, Aethrin but nodded, and let his head droop, resting his elbows on his knees. Patience might be a virtue, but in his mind, he silently urged his brother to hurry, for he was well and truly anxious to leave the city to its teeming and noise and return home, where he would not feel as though every man on the docks were laughing at him behind his back.

At length, Fardhan did return, looking rather grim. "Eh, let's get 't'ourselves home," he said, tersely. Mal and Aethrin glanced at each other, and Mal gave him a one-shouldered shrug, then reached up and helped Aethrin climb down, whispering in his ear as he did so:

"Face like curdled milk!" That made Aethrin smile just a little, as he and Mal followed Fardhan back down to the lower docks.

In silence, they returned to their boat, and put out upon the river, Mal and Fardhan taking up the oars. There was little to say—none of them had found anyone willing to take them on, and thirty pennies would not go far towards Charter Tax, and supper would be meager as ever it was. Aethrin's stomach growled audibly at the very thought, and he bit his lip, gazing anxiously ahead at Fardhan's back. But his brother said nothing, and it was work to pull against the current, and so Aethrin decided it was best not to trouble him.

The sun was setting by the time they neared the Eastshore, and Aethrin gazed out into the gathering gloom of Ithilien's forested banks. Here and there, lights shone forth upon the water: fishermen's boats, as men and boys glided out onto the water with their lanterns, to tempt the unwary fish to the surface and into their nets.

"Pull t' port, we'll go round," Fardhan said suddenly, and Mal grunted in agreement. A courtesy, not to cut through the paths of the other boats, and perhaps frighten away their finned quarry.

When at last they reached the shallows, and they could all scramble out to tug their boat up onto the shore, it was full dark. Carefully, they made their way back to the village, where for once Aethrin was grateful for the presence of the guards, for their lanterns shone forth, lighting their way home. And indeed, Mal and Fardhan paused by one, and Mal pulled the little purse from his pocket, opening it.

"Here, then," he said, and counted out ten of the thirty pennies into Fardhan's open palm. "Aetho, give tha's hand here, quick like."

Obediently, Aethrin held his hand out, and Malgath dropped the remaining five into it. "For the snaplegs," he said, and smiled at him. "Good lad. Give you good night, both!"

"Go tha good, Mal," Fardhan replied, and Aethrin waved. Mal waved back, then hurried off toward his own home.

"Eh, let's go then, Aetho," his brother said, pocketing the coins.

"Will Mam be pleased, think tha?" Aethrin asked, and got a shrug for an answer.

"We'd less this morn," Fardhan said after a moment. Which did not truly answer the question, but he still seemed rather touchy, so Aethrin did not press him.

As the day had begun, so it ended: Alweth had supper waiting for them: more porridge and flatbread, though no fish. "Any luck?" she asked, when they had seated themselves after the Silence.

"Thirty pennies between us, naught 't'else," Fardhan replied.

"Well, mayhap next week," she said.

"Ent likely," her elder son muttered. Alweth grunted, but strangely enough, did not take him to task for his tone.

"'Twill be better tomorrow," was all she said. It was Fardhan's turn to grunt at that, and the meal finished in silence. Aethrin rose and cleared the table, while Fardhan excused himself to wash up and go to bed, for he was needed early to help break the ground on the narrow farmland strips. And while Alweth cleaned the dishes, Aethrin obligingly swept up.

He had just finished and set the broom in its corner, when he felt his mother's hands upon his shoulders, and then Alweth's lips upon his cheek. "Tha's a good lad, my Aetho," she murmured fondly, and gave him a squeeze. "'Twill be better, I promise."

"Dunno, Mam," Aethrin dared after a moment, speaking softly. "Fardho's right worried."

Alweth sighed. "Fardho's like his Da—holds for what he thinks right, 't'an' naught 't'else. He takes it hard, he does, when things fall out different, like. Growing up knowing his Da was gone an' he'd to do his duty by us, stand in his Da's shoes—'tis hard for him."

"Mam," Aethrin said, turning to face her then. Alweth cocked her head at him, and he bit his lip a moment, ere he asked, "Tha said I'd've been t' the woods with Da and Fardho, if Da were here still. But tha ent said naught 't'about me going north with Fardho and the others this year yet. Shouldn't 't'I be going, if there's such work to be done, an' we're behind in the Charter Tax?"

His mother was silent a short while, before she smiled a little and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes, then used a corner of her apron to wipe a bit at one cheek ere she replied: "Not this year, Aetho. Tha's not yet grown enough for it, 't'and with the pretender's men on the loose away north, 't'ent safe."

 _But if it 't'ent safe, how if Fardho doesn't come back?_ Aethrin wanted to know, but knew better than to ask. Instead, he simply nodded, and was rewarded with an approving smile. "Go tha now and rest, for there's work tomorrow for us all in the fields."

"Aye, Mam," Aethrin replied, and scampered up the ladder to the dark room above. There, he quietly undressed and, groping in the dark to find the blankets, crept into bed beside his brother, who grunted and shifted a bit to make room for him. Aethrin sighed softly and curled up against cold and hunger yet unsated.

But he did not sleep. He could not, for he had all of Pelargir, it seemed, running about in his head, and a lump of worry in his belly, for plainly it seemed things were not well anywhere in the world. And though he knew he ought to let Fardhan rest, at length he whispered in the darkness: "Fardho?"

A sigh sounded at his back. "Mmm?" came his brother's reply.

"Tha's got to leave soon, eh? T' go north with all t' others?"

"Aye."

"Soon's the Rangers from up north come?"

"Aye, lad."

"Think tha the pretender's men'll be back again?"

Another sigh. "Lad, they'll be back 'til this thing's done an' Eldacar's won or Castamir has. War ent 't'over 'til one of 'em's dead. Now," Fardhan said, a bit more oppressively, "get tha t' sleep, eh?"

"Yes, Fardhan." Fardhan grunted and settled again, seeming content to leave it at that. But Aethrin lay awake still, and after a moment, he whispered again:

"Fardho?"

This time, it was a decidedly cross "What?" that answered him.

"We going t' be able t' pay the Charter Tax this year?"

"I'll manage it, 't'Aetho," came the reply. "Sleep tha now—I've t' rise early."

"Sorry," Aethrin murmured contritely. But ere his brother could turn over and go to bed, he added quickly: "I'll help this year, Fardho. I'll find someone t' take me on in Pelagir. This week coming, I'll find someone. Be a ship's boy if I have to."

The silence at his back was profound, and then, rather to his surprise, an arm slipped about him and Fardhan pulled him close, tucking him under his chin.

"Tha's got 't'a lot 't'of rubbish 'twixt the ears tonight," his brother grumbled. But then his arm tightened about Aethrin, and he murmured into his ear: "Eastshoremen belong in Ithilien; ent 't'a king can change that. Tha won't 't'ever need t' be ship's boy—I'll see to it."


	3. Daily Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace. Land. Life. Loyalty.

_Rumor spread that Castamir desired to remove the throne to Pelargir, and this angered many in the North, and did not well please some in the South, either, who had been glad to have him at a distance.  
  
It was known that Lord Amrazar of Dor-en-Ernil had ever been wary of the ambitious Captain of Ships, and Castamir had hard courted him for long without great success. It was said afterwards that in the late years of the reign of the usurper, that Amrazar had conspired with partisans in Osgiliath and Minas Anor, and in secret sent word to Eldacar in his exile that if the deposed prince could show sign of his strength, that an alliance might be crafted, though it would need time._  
  
—Calimendil of Anórien, Master of the Royal Guild of Scriveners, _Of the Restoration_ , 1474 of the Third Age.  
  
  
 _Rise, O people, run like the water, River-sons  
Let sound the horns of Haurnja, the hoofs of horses!  
_Gut-thiuda _, rise like the geese on their wings  
And flood the forests with fear of fire,  
Let your brother's foes tremble before you!  
  
For the river flows free, O the river flows free  
Wash the sails in the water and keep the river running free!_  
  
—"The Tale of Frumgar and Fremgang," early Rohirric verse, recorded in the _Chronicle of Cirion and Eorl_ , composed around 2525 of the Third Age  
  


***

The next day came early, just as Fardhan had said, and his brother even left him the chore of bringing more water in, for he was away in the fields before daybreak. Aethrin struggled with the buckets, but he was careful and took his time, and brought them in without spilling a drop. Alweth would heat some of the water come evening for bathing, for they would all need it after a day's ploughing and planting.

"Here's breakfast," his mother said, placing some flatbread and still more porridge before him.

"No fish?" Aethrin asked, without much hope.

Alweth shook her head. "Not today, my lad. Tha's brother needs it more. Bread for tha and me, an' tha'll plant while he breaks the earth," she told him. And since she was never one to flout custom, she gave him a gentle shove toward his place, and said, "Now stand tha there quiet 't'a moment, an' we'll begin."

Once they had finished and cleaned up after themselves, Alweth and Aethrin trudged over to the flagstone storehouse where seeds and other such vital things were kept, there to wait in the line as the old wives of the village painstakingly measured out seed rations to each planter.

"There, now," said old Dame Eldrith, carefully pouring some of the grain into the pair of satchels Alweth laid before her. "Waste not 't'a bit 't'of it, dears!"

"We shan't, goodwife," Alweth said, handing one satchel to Aethrin. "Let's be off," she said, and he nodded.

Eastshore's farmland had been cleared out of land that once had been forested in Aethrin's great-grandfather's time. The fields spread out into the trees, marching up and down the riverbanks, following the loggers who had naturally begun with the trees nearest the water and thus easiest to move to the shoreline. Part of the southern strip was given over to pasture land for the village's few, desperately needed oxen, and a sty for the pigs. But most of it was farmland, hewn slowly out of the forest year by long year, for according to the law, there was only so much farmland to be gained from logging: a certain number of acres per family in the village, and for the rest, Aldarion's edict held as ever it had: for every tree cut beyond the farm allotment, there must be one planted.

Ordinarily, the law was no trouble. The farmlands had been built slowly, for they were right upon the river; it was not so much needed as further inland. Eastshoremen had taken care to plant their share of new trees, and a few more—it could only help them, eventually. It was only lately that matters had become difficult. With no clearing on Eastshore's land, the trees were certainly prospering, but taxes were now assessed on all the land, whether or not it was arable. And Charter law was clear: Eastshore was theirs so long as they rendered it prosperous. And prosperity was measured in the ability to pay all one's taxes.

With more trees being taken under the Ship Tax, instead of sold, to say nothing of those lost to the pretender's depredations, the coin had to come from somewhere. Eastshoremen therefore tightened their belts and sold a portion of the harvest, or else the seeds, or both, along with far more of what came out of the river than they were accustomed to give to make up for the lack. Yet it seemed nature itself was against them lately: as if taxes and war were not bad enough, the rains had been harsh in the past few years, drowning crops or prolonging winter. Harvest was an anxious time these past few years. Folk watched the sky, cursing the threat of storms and the shorter season—a season made all the more harried by the absence of most of the men, already on the move north for the winter culling.

But all that lay ahead still. They had to plant first, and as at summer's end there was not much time, since river run was expected soon, and would take many hands away.

"Tha's still here," Meithel greeted Aethrin, as they arrived in the northern fields dedicated to the spring planting.

"Aye, still an Eastshoreman," Aethrin replied, gazing out over the furrows already waiting for them. The oxen and their drivers were further down the field, while others drew harrows behind them to break up the clods. He spied Fardhan and Mal helping guide a pair of oxen near the eastern edges of the field, and he waved. Fardhan, after a moment, waved back.

"Well, since tha's not 't'apprenticed yet, let's get 't'us gone and these seeds t' ground," Meithel urged. "Sooner we start, sooner it's over."

All that day, they walked slowly along, dropping seed carefully into the earth, and the women came behind and harrowed it into the earth. Noon arrived, and they were halfway done; Aethrin had dirt up to his knees, on his hands, and had got it on both cheeks what with wiping sweat from his face. Meithel looked little better.

"Funny, ent it," Meithel said, cracking his back during a short pause in their labor, "that whether we've a lot 't'or a little, we ent 't'ever done any sooner than sunset. Ought t' be otherwise, eh?"

"I expect so, but naught's been going as expected, I guess," Aethrin replied, wiping absently and futilely at muddy hands. His stomach was growling, but supper was still a long way off. _Got t' hold out 't'awhile more,_ he told it.

But even as he thought it, Meithel’s stomach sent up an answering growl, and his friend grimaced. "Never one hungry alone," Meithel grumbled, and Aethrin sighed for the truth of that old saw. "Wish we'd go ahead and kill an ox," his friend continued, shifting the conversation as he eyed the laboring beasts hungrily.

"Tha's got 't'a want t' pull ploughsheds tha's self next spring?" Aethrin inquired.

"Just one ox, Aetho—wouldn't be too much, eh?"

"One ox is a lot ‘t’of labor for us, an’ the spring ent gettin’ any longer, what with all the rain keeps dropping down on us, early and late," Aethrin replied. "Besides, we lost those two cows this year last, 't'an' we already killed a few of 'em years past. Think the elders want t' keep all the oxen we've got."

"Pig, then. Pigs're for eating."

"And makin' Charter Tax," Aethrin retorted, though not without a sigh of regret for the loss. Then he sighed and pulled his satchel about so it rested on the opposite shoulder, and he tapped Meithel's arm. "Eh, back to it. Let's finish so we can eat _somethin'_."

So they bent to their task once more, and working steadily, they made their way west, though the further they went, the more frugally they scattered seed as their sacks emptied. And once finished, they headed back to join the women dragging harrows, taking their mothers' places in order that they might go and tend to the evening chores.

Finally, though, they reached the end of the furrows, and they cast off the harness and harrows. "Thought we'd finish sooner than that," Aethrin remarked, as he slowly straightened, cracking his back.

"Least we're done for the day, I suppose," Meithel sighed, as they made their way to the river bank to get the worst of the mud off. The men were still lounging on the shores there, resting after a quick splash in the river. Meithel and Aethrin wended their way over to where Malgath and Fardhan were sitting and plopped down beside them. A few of the lasses were there, too, drawing water.

"Hey lads," Mal greeted them, and nearby, Gilriel turned from a group of her friends to look.

"Mal," Meithel said, and nodded. "Fardho." Fardhan lifted a hand, then let it fall. "Hey, Aetho, it's Gilly."

"Tha's got dust 'tween the ears, Meitho," Gilriel snapped back instantly. "Must've fell in with the dirt!" She rose and approached, eyeing Meithel disdainfully. And she snorted as she drew a finger across Meithel's face, and Meithel protested as she scratched a bit drawing off. Gilriel held her finger up, examining the dirt ere wiping it on Meithel's shirt. "We ent got 't'a want for water, at least," she said, then turned and went back to get her pails and skins. "Got water t' heat and cookin' still t' finish," she said, and departed. The lads watched her go.

"Huh," Aethrin said after a moment, and nudged his friend. "That's twice these two days past she ent 't'even slapped tha!"

"Must like tha, eh?" Mal teased. Meithel made an indignant noise.

"Nah," Fardhan retorted, still watching Gilriel's retreating figure. "Too sensible a lass t' be took in by this river rat!"

"Eh, like he said," Meithel said sagely, and nodded.

"He called tha rat, Meitho," Mal protested, amused.

"River rats we all are. What 't'of it?" the boy replied. Mal snorted, but then shrugged, wiping at his brow with the back of a forearm.

"Nothing if it 't'ent nothing to tha, I guess," he replied. "Wish you river rats would change for land rats! Make ploughing easier," he added.

"Ah, leave off! Me an' Aetho don't come up but hock high on that 't'ox," Meithel protested, grinning.

"Next year might be different, though, eh?" Mal replied, then rose, stretching a bit. "Well, me for a proper bath with that nice warm water Gilriel and the others are makin'. Get it while we got it. After all, come the Rangers for river run, an' it's all cold water from Cair Andros to Pelargir. Coming, Fardho?" A pause. "Fardho?"

"Eh, a moment," Fardhan replied, staring east. Aethrin turned to see what was afoot, and was in time to see a group of Rangers appear from out of the forest, carrying what looked like a young doe between them. A few of them had a string of hares, too, and Aethrin felt his stomach cramp hungrily at the sight of them.

"Least they ent 't'eatin' out t'of our larders," Mal said, as always seeking the good side of matters, though even he sounded a bit envious. Game hunting was not something Eastshoremen had ever learned the craft of, having no need of it with all the river to fish and their few animals that they husbanded. How to make a bow and shoot it was something no one had mastered, and it was not as if such things were cheaply bought in Pelargir, either.

Lately, that ignorance was being felt, as the animals dwindled, having been long since added to the pot or sold or deemed irreplaceable, and with larger and larger portions of their thinning catch going across the river to pay their debts. They could trap rabbits, at least, but with the King's Rangers about, they seemed to come less often out into the fields, and although one could trap on cleared land and just a little beyond it, the rule of the forest was hunting, not laying traps that could entangle or even injure another.

Rangers, of course, were well-trained in the ways of their craft, making their own bows and arrows and traps, and they were great shots after so many hours spent practicing on the village's scarecrows and other, smaller targets. They often hunted to keep themselves, trading back over the river in Pelargir when they went on leave for steel arrowheads or the like, and they maintained their own little plot of vegetables. It was the one thing Eastshoremen appreciated about them: King's Men like Rangers, who were stationed for long on the land they watched, had to keep themselves, rather than impose upon the villagers, and they did. It was just that food being scarce lately, Eastshoremen could hardly help but notice that the Rangers at least did not appear to be suffering...

"Wonder if they'd trade for some of that," Meithel said, sounding as if he were mentally tallying anything he could beg, borrow, or steal that might be used for such dealings.

For it wasn't as if the Rangers _never_ shared their bounty, it was just that it was a rare encounter between them and Eastshoremen that lacked a certain predictable chill. Rangers rarely had guests, and were even more rarely "guested," as the folk of the Eastshore were in the habit of saying. Too much of Westshore in the King's Rangers for Eastshore tastes, and so east and west were happy enough to see to their own affairs as much as possible. Certainly, one didn't go begging in Eastshore—not from Westshoremen. Aethrin therefore was not surprised when his brother replied to Meithel:

"Lad, there's some trades ent worth making," Fardhan warned, even as he rose and looked away. Reaching out, he gave Mal a shake. "Coming?" he asked.

"Oh aye. Aye," Mal said, tearing his eyes away, and he and Fardhan headed back towards the village.

"I know one of them," Meithel said, when the older lads had left. "Ranger named Barandor. Likes to win at dice. Sometimes, he'll dice with tha at mealtimes—could get 't'a bit that way."

"Tha could get some and see what Gilly makes of it, tha's so fond of her," Aethrin suggested, and got an elbow to the ribs. But then Meithel grinned evilly.

"Might just! Want to come?"

"I don't dice," Aethrin said, feeling no little regret. But Meithel seemed not at all dismayed.

"All the better—he'll win every time," his friend said, clearly warming to his plan.

" _Can't_ , Meitho," Aethrin said, and shook his head. "Mam ent one for gambling."

"Bet she'd forgive it for a bit 't'of rabbit," his friend wheedled. Aethrin sighed.

"Can't," he repeated softly. Meithel made a frustrated sound, but after a moment, he seemed to accept it.

"Got t' break some rules," he said. "I'm going."

"Good luck."

"Bad's what 't'I need for once," was Meithel's parting shot. With that, he scampered off. Aethrin sighed and leaned over the river once more, looking at his wavering reflection a moment before he stepped into the river and bent to dip his hands in. Cupping water in them, he splashed it upon his face, rubbed vigorously, and repeated the process. Then, clean enough to be allowed within the house at least, he straightened and made his way back home.

He found Alweth kneeling by their oven, cleaning ashes out of it. "Was goin' t' help tha," Aethrin said, apologetically. Alweth looked up.

"Ah, Aethrin—no matter, there'll be soap t' make one day soon," she said. "Go ahead in. Tha can help Fardho empty the old water, then take tha's turn. I'll just finish here."

"My thanks, Mam!" Aethrin replied. He went within and found his brother scrubbing still in the kitchen, where it was warmest thanks to the fire. "Get tha's back, Fardhan?" he asked.

"If tha would," his brother replied, handing him the stiff-bristled brush and crouching down in the little tub for him. Aethrin got the brush lathered up with soap, then applied himself to his task. But his mind was elsewhere, imagining rabbits and dice and wondering whether he shouldn't try, just this once, to sneak out later on and join his friend. After all, Meithel surely was right about some rules needing to be broken...

"Aie, careful, lad! Tha's washing my back, not tanning my hide!" his brother protested just then.

"Sorry," Aethrin said meekly, and scrubbed more gently.

"What's tha got in the heart now, Aetho? Tha's thinking somewhat much," Fardhan asked, glancing over his shoulder at him.

"Naught so much or great," Aethrin demured. His brother snorted.

"If Meithel's in it, tha speaks truth! Eh, tell me—what 't'is it? You were still talking when we left, Mal and I."

Aethrin sighed. He never was very good at keeping things from Fardhan, especially when asked directly, and so he gave up the effort. "Talked about tryin' t' get 't'a little of the Rangers' catch tonight. Meithel says he knows one of 'em."

"Get it with what?" Fardhan demanded, turning about now to face him. "Aetho, we ent got 't'anythin' to trade."

"Meithel says Barandor likes to win at dice, an' I can lose right well, since tha knows I ent 't'ever played," Aethrin replied.

"Mam would have the ears off tha straight!"

"I know, but... what if Mam didn't know?" Aethrin asked. A gusty sigh greeted this revelation, and Fardhan hooked a damp, soapy hand about the back of Aethrin's neck, pulling him in a little closer.

"List tha here," his brother said. "Tha won't slip out behind Mam's back for a bit 't'of rabbit, hear? Especially not t' play dice. Da never held with it, 't'and neither does Mam, an' if they don't, 't'I don't. Got 't'enough debt 't'already, we do. An' I'm t' take care of tha. Tha stays here tonight."

"But 't'I'm _hungry,_ Fardho," Aethrin protested, leaning his face wearily against his brother's bare shoulder. _So hungry!_ His stomach twisted within him, complaining rather loudly even as he spoke, and he heard Fardhan sigh softly. The hand at the back of his neck squeezed a little, and fingers slid through his hair gently a moment. Then:

"Here, get tha up. Tha's tired and cold, an' I've had my turn in the tub. Empty it 't'out 't'and fill it for tha—tha'll feel better warmed up a bit," Fardhan said, releasing him and rising. Aethrin was unsure how that would cure him of hunger, but he said nothing, only climbed to his feet and fetched his brother a towel to dry himself on. Fardhan made short work of that, and quickly pulled his trousers on, leaving the shirt aside for a moment. "Here, help me, lad," he said, and the two of them stooped, picked up the tub, and carried it to the back, where they emptied it over a patch of the newly-seeded garden.

Then it was back inside, where Fardhan urged him to undress while he filled up the tub again with the water he had left in the pot over the fire. Then it was over to the pail to dip cool water from the barrel, and tip that into the tub as well, so Aethrin would not be scalded. "In with tha," his brother commanded, and Aethrin, shivering now, made haste to obey, and was quick to splash some water over his shoulders and back.

"Here, sit tha quiet, 't'I'll pour," Fardhan said, retrieving the ewer normally used for washing, and he dipped it into the tub. Aethrin closed his eyes as his brother emptied it over his head, and then he reached for the soap and began working the lather into his hair. Meanwhile Fardhan took up the brush and returned the favor, scrubbing his back while Aethrin washed his hair. And his brother chafed his arms, too, keeping the chill away while Aethrin saw to the rest of himself, then rinsed off and climbed out to stand before the fire. Fardhan wordlessly handed him the towel, watching him dry off, then handed him his spare shirt and trousers. Once more, they took the tub out and emptied it.

"Tha can take tha's turn, Mam," Fardhan said, as Alweth rose and wiped ashes from her hands. "I'll fill it 't'again for tha."

"My thanks, Fardho. Just put your clothes in the basket for tomorrow," Alweth told them both.

"Aye, we did," Fardhan replied, leaving Aethrin to stand on the back porch, watching a few chickens strut loose about the yard, scratching at the earth. He returned but a short while later and tapped Aethrin's arm. "Let's be off for a bit," he said, as Alweth went within and shut the door to have her privacy.

"Where we going?" Aethrin asked.

"Just 't'about the river side. Come on," his brother beckoned, draping an arm about Aethrin's shoulders. Back down the path they went, past the Rangers, and down to the shore once more, where the boats sat unused tonight. There they stood and threw stones into the river, skipping them across the water.

"Four ent bad," Fardhan said after awhile, and Aethrin made a face at him.

"Ent fair tha's got 't'a' better arm for it!" he retorted.

Fardhan flexed and gave him a superior smirk. "See why I don't let tha carry pails?" he said.

"Aye, tha cheats!" Aethrin replied.

"Older's clever," Fardhan said loftily, and patted him on the head. "Younger's still stupid."

"Put sand in tha's hair, I will," Aethrin threatened.

"Do it, 't'I'll throw tha in the river."

"Put pig slop in tha's shoes."

"Stuff tha in the chickens' coop."

"I'll shriek."

"Ah, tha'll break the ears with that squawling," Fardhan groaned and held up his hands in surrender.

Aethrin folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin, unmollified. "Say it!" he demanded. Fardhan sighed loudly.

"All right, tha's a clever lad," he conceded and held out his hand. Aethrin smiled and took it, and when his brother had it clasped firmly in his, Fardhan suddenly pulled him in and tucked his head under an arm, knuckling his hair.

"But not clever enough," he added, while Aethrin swore and swatted at him. "Ah, watch tha's mouth," he warned, "or I'll still throw tha in the river. But 't'enough, eh? Mam's likely done by now."

So saying, he released Aethrin, who straightened up and shook himself, running his fingers through his hair. "Will get tha one day," Aethrin muttered, and Fardhan grinned unrepentently.

"But not 'til after supper. Let's go!"

So back they went, knocked on the front door, in case Alweth should have taken longer than was her wont. But their mother called them within swiftly, and they gathered around the table where she set more flatbread and porridge.

"Down t' the last of the saltmeat," Alweth told them. "Come planting's end, we'll have it. Something to look forward to, eh?"

Aethrin only sighed inwardly, and glanced sideways at his brother. But neither of them complained, and porridge was something at least. Still, later that night, he tossed and turned in bed, trying to get comfortable, and wished he could be more like Fardhan, who seemed never to have any trouble falling asleep. Spring planting—well, any planting lately—always was a battle between exhaustion and hunger, and it was never sure, come nightfall, which would win.

The next day dawned, and a sleepy, rather resentful Aethrin dragged himself out of bed to another day's labor in the fields. He was joined by an equally tired-eyed Meithel, and Aethrin, taking in his friend's uncharacteristically silent mood, asked, "So how'd it go? Win at 't'all?"

"Didn't play. Rangers were having some quarrel, sounded like—something about no news from the north, an' wonderin' what it meant. Some of 'em think it's naught, ‘t’an' some think otherwise. Lot 't'of worry about that sort 't'of talk, I guess. Anyhow," Meithel said, "I wasn't going to walk in after that."

"Just sat there by the door listening an' then crept home?"

"Aye. Pretty much. Stupid quarrel! Could've had done with it 't'earlier, they could've. Ent gettin' anyone anywhere, 'specially not 't'our lads up north t' pay Ship Tax," Meithel groused.

Which was, in some ways, fine with Aethrin, who was pleased to have Fardhan home, but it _was_ curious that no one had come yet. And now that Meithel mentioned it, that could be worrisome, too, if it meant they couldn't get enough timber to the cities and the king's mills to cover Ship Tax.

 _What if we have t' pay it straight, like Charter Tax?_ he wondered, anxiously. They were struggling to keep afloat as it was, and that with selling more than they could afford to let go of across the river. Ship Tax at least was a simple matter of getting timber into the mills, but what if they couldn't do that for some reason? What if the Rangers didn't come? What if the pretender's raiders destroyed all the winter logs waiting to be taken down river? What then?

A weighty question, and Aethrin found himself stuck with it all that day, worrying over it, as over a loose tooth. By day's end, when he took his turn in the tub, it had worked its way down into him, that worry, 'til he couldn't keep it in any more.

"What if they did burn all the logs, Fardho?" he asked, as he and Fardhan, having bathed and left their mother to her washing, wandered the water's edge once more. "What would happen to us?"

"Have to cut more, I suppose," Fardhan replied, gazing west across the river towards the glimmer of light on the horizon.

"But how much more? Could you do it, before the Ship Tax came due?"

"We'd have to."

"But could—"

"I don't _know_ , Aetho," his brother replied irritably. "Just... leave it be, eh? Ent nothin' we can do about that, 't'and we don't know what's takin' so long up there. Could be anything." Aethrin lowered his eyes, mute before Fardhan's bad mood. And after a moment, he heard him sigh, and an arm landed about his shoulders.

"Ent nothing to worry about, 't'Aetho," his brother said then, and Aethrin looked up at him. "We'll pay it. No question, for we ent going back t' being Pelargir's. Ship Tax and Charter—they'll get paid. Rangers'll come any day, after all. Just be glad we're getting the ploughing done, eh?"

"Guess so," Aethrin said, though he was not terribly reassured. But he did not want to upset his brother, either, and so he said no more as they returned to their home for supper.

However, his effort was undone the moment they opened the door. As usual, they knocked, and when no call came back to tell them to wait, Fardhan opened the door. Aethrin slipped in, his brother on his heels, so that when he stopped short just inside the door, Fardhan nearly tread upon Aethrin.

"Aetho, move tha," Fardhan began, but then stopped abruptly, as he, too, caught sight of their visitor.

Alweth stood wiping her hands quickly upon her apron, and they were greasy, for there was a rabbit upon the cutting board—well cooked from the look and smell of it. And seated in a chair at the table was a man in homespun and leathers, but with a green cloak that bore a badge upon it. White tree and crown on black field—the royal arms, on such a cloak, meant but one thing: Ranger. And both Aethrin and Fardhan knew well the wearer. Calandil came to his feet, no rush or fuss, and he gave the brothers a nod.

 _What's he doing here?_ was Aethrin's first thought, though it seemed evident enough the Ranger had come for supper. Had even come _with_ supper, and Aethrin could not quite forebear from staring at the rabbit being dissected upon the table.

"Aethrin, Fardhan," Alweth was saying as she stepped around the table, reaching for them. "Calandil brought 't'us a planting gift—mind your manners, now!" This, with a rather stern and pointed look for her elder son.

"Good evening, lads," Calandil greeted them. Aethrin, who always found himself at a loss for words about the man, simply stared back at him. Fardhan, however, suffered no shyness.

"Give tha good evening," he said, rather stiffly, under Alweth's narrow-eyed, expectant look. He gestured to the rabbit. "Kind of tha t' think of us, but we can do for ourselves, Captain."

"Fardhan," Alweth said warningly, but Calandil only smiled a little and made a slight, dismissive gesture, as if sweeping aside Fardhan's barely veiled rudeness.

"It's all right, Mistress Alweth," he said soothingly, ere addressing himself to Fardhan. "I never said you couldn't, lad, but I thought you might like one nonetheless. And you know I'm not a captain, so no need to promote me."

"Eh. No promotions, he says," Fardhan grunted, then glanced at Alweth, and repeated, quirking a brow, "No promotions?"

Aethrin cringed at that, for whatever their recent jesting, he was certainly old enough and clever enough to know exactly what was meant, and he feared his mother's reaction. Alweth's face was thunderous, and for a moment, Aethrin was certain there would be a quarrel. But then she drew a deep breath, and stepped back, seeking to calm herself, clearly.

"I've a hare to carve," she announced. "Make yourselves useful or go sit quietly until supper is ready. Which is it to be?"

There was silence a moment, then Fardhan touched Aethrin's shoulder. "Help Mam," he said, and then moved to begin drawing water for tea. Aethrin blinked at him, astonished. From Alweth's expression, she, too, had been expecting worse. A cautious hope slid across her face, ere she glanced at Calandil, and then moved to return to her chore. Aethrin obediently went and got their bowls and cups and began laying them out, keeping one setting aside until Alweth should finish with the rabbit. Then he sank down into his seat to watch, keeping one eye on the hare that was making his mouth water, and the other on Calandil.

The Ranger was a tall man, as were most of the Dúnedain, and like most Dúnedain, grey eyes looked out from beneath black brows. His hair he wore back in a short tail, and he'd the look of a man who spent much time in the open air: his skin was tanned, though not so deeply as any Eastshoreman's, and there were some squint lines about his eyes. But it was a young face nevertheless, though Aethrin always thought he must be older than Alweth at least. It was hard to tell with Dúnedain, and Aethrin bit his lip, speculating.

And then he blushed, for Calandil's eyes cut to him, and then the man turned his head and cocked a brow at him. _Rangers always know when they're being watched,_ Meithel had said once, and Aethrin quickly lowered his eyes, fearful lest he give offense. Fortunately, there was no opportunity for Calandil to speak to him just then.

"There we are," Alweth announced, carefully pushing the board to the center of the table, and she gestured for Aethrin to stand. Calandil did as well. "Fardhan, come join us," she beckoned.

But Fardhan, in the second surprise of the evening, replied, "Can't. Ent 't'enough room."

For a moment, everyone stared at him, uncomprehending, for there were four chairs and settings after all. Then Alweth's mouth thinned ominously. "Son, let's have no more nonsense—" she began.

"Ent nonsense, Mam," Fardhan said quietly. He gestured to the empty seat. "That's Da's chair, not mine."

"Fardhan, I never heard such a thing! We've had others to sup with us before an' no trouble given about 't'a chair," Alweth retorted.

"Eh, well, then I ent hungry," Fardhan said and shrugged.

"Of _course_ tha's hungry!"

"Ne. Not tonight," Fardhan maintained steadily, not budging an inch. He nodded at Aethrin. "Give Aetho my share. Think I'll take a walk. Give you all good night, 't'and don't feel a need t' wait 't'up for me."

With that, he turned and departed out the back door without another word, leaving Alweth to stare, appalled, after him. She started to go after him, but Calandil caught her hand, staying her. "Let him go," he said quietly. "He shall return in good time."

Still, it was another moment before Alweth turned back to face them, and she nodded, then bowed her head, and Aethrin followed suit, waiting until Alweth released them to their supper with the customary "So let 't'our day end." Aethrin set to with a will, for rabbit was very welcome indeed.

"'Twas good of tha t' go to such trouble," Alweth told Calandil after a moment.

"The luck of the hunt was with us yesterday," Calandil replied. "And since I caught quite a few of those rabbits, the others haven't been able to complain about my taking one."

"I could've cooked it, though," Alweth insisted.

Calandil chuckled. "I doubt it not, but we are used to cooking for ourselves, and I fancy I have a fair hand for such things. At least, none of the others has complained of my cooking yet!"

"Naught t' complain of," Alweth assured him. "Is it not so, Aetho?"

"Mmm," Aethrin grunted, and nodded, for whatever he felt for Calandil, there was nothing to dislike in his cooking.

"You have many duties to bear anyway, Alweth. I should not wish to add to them," Calandil said, ignoring Aethrin's wordless reply for the moment. Alweth flushed at that.

"'Twould be nothing I've not done before," she said. The Ranger only smiled at that, watching her.

"How went the planting today?" Calandil asked after a moment.

"Five oxen, five acres a day, and more to do for the next while. 'Twas luck the thaw ent taken our lads north sooner," Alweth replied. "Makes it 't'a quicker chore, ploughing." She gave Calandil a look then, and asked, "Would tha know ought 't'of that? A week I've been thinking Fardho would be gone already, or any day."

Calandil shook his head. "News travels as swift as the first runner, and we've heard nothing. It may be that the north has a harder winter than we have had here. You recall how fierce the last one was," he said blithely, just as if there had been no dispute about such matters among the Rangers the night before, Aethrin noted.

"Aye, I do. Such rain we had, and for so long, and the ice in the north, Fardhan said," Alweth replied, apparently accepting this excuse. _For she ent got Meithel to spy things out,_ Aethrin thought, and wondered which side Calandil had been on.

"Think it's the pretender's men makin' trouble?" Aethrin heard himself ask, before he could consider the wisdom of such a question. At that, both Calandil and Alweth gave him rather a sharp look.

"Aetho," his mother said, a bit reprovingly. "Such a question!"

"But Mam, what 't'about last year? Men died last year," Aethrin protested quietly. "An' we ent 't'ever heard the Rangers got them all, the pretender's men!"

"Aethrin, tha'll show a proper respect to our guest—" Alweth began, but Calandil reached and caught her hand in his, stilling her rebuke.

"'Tis all right, I am not offended. The lad is right, the pretender's men are still at large," Calandil confirmed, his grey eyes resting upon Aethrin's face. "And so I am afraid I cannot say whether it is because of Eldacar's men that the Rangers are delayed, or whether it is simply a long winter up near Cair Andros."

"What if it's them, Eldacar's folk?"

"Then," Calandil said steadily, "the Rangers will try, with the King's levies, to hold the north against them, until we drive them off."

"How long will that take?" Aethrin asked.

The Ranger shrugged eloquently. "I cannot say. But as long as it takes, the Rangers will be there."

"And what if it's all spring? What if we can't make river run? We gonna have to pay Ship Tax still?" Aethrin dared to ask. Alweth put her head in her hands.

Calandil simply stared at him a moment, but then said, "I do not know the king's mind on such matters. I am only a Ranger, not a great lord."

"The king will do what's right," Alweth said, stepping in at that moment, and her tone left no room for disagreement. She gave Aethrin a warning look, and then said, "King keeps his people."

"Well said," Calandil murmured. He gave Aethrin a conspiratorial smile then, as if sharing some great secret, as he said, "You've a wise woman for a mother, lad."

Aethrin couldn't bear to bring himself to say anything to that, especially not when Alweth gave Calandil a sweet smile for the obvious compliment. Fortunately, it seemed there was no real need for him to say aught in response: Calandil swiftly changed the subject, and left Aethrin to his supper, intent upon conversing with Alweth, who seemed only too happy with the arrangement.

When they had finished supper, however, Alweth sighed and looked to the empty place at the table. "Aethrin, be a help an' see that 't'a bit 't'of this is kept for him, would tha?" she said.

"Aye, Mam," Aethrin said, rising to go and set a portion of their supper aside for his brother. He got a good bit of the rabbit into a bowl and then holding it carefully, scampered up the ladder to their lofted room, where he carefully felt his way over to the window sill and set the bowl down. And then he paused, straining his ears to listen.

"May I come again tomorrow, Alweth?" Calandil was saying.

"Fardhan won't like it," Alweth replied.

"I know that. But there are matters I would speak with you about—things you should consider, I think."

"Calo," his mother sighed.

"Alya," the Ranger replied, "you know it is true. Even your Aethrin knows it—you heard him tonight."

"Heard him, aye. An' he'll be back in but 't'a moment, if he ent listening already—young rascal of a friend, Meitho, gives him ideas!" Alweth snorted, and in the darkness, Aethrin blushed, even as he hastened to (loudly) make his way towards the ladder again.

"Put Fardho's supper out for him, Mam," he said as he reappeared and jumped down from the last few rungs.

"There's my good lad. Now, say tha good eve an' thanks to Calandil," she instructed. Aethrin sighed inwardly, but he dutifully turned and made the other an awkward bob of head and shoulders.

"Thanks," he said. "Rest tha good tonight."

"And you, too, Aethrin," Calandil replied, making a much more graceful half-bow, ere reaching to take Alweth's hand and brush his lips over the back of her knuckles. "Good night, Alweth."

"Good night," Alweth said, her cheeks a bit red, and then the Ranger drew his cloak about his shoulders and departed. Alweth sighed. "Here, help me clean up," she said, and wordlessly, Aethrin obeyed. When he had finished, he bid his mother good night and climbed up once more, shed his clothes, and slipped between the sheets. There he lay, and waited until, after a time, he heard the door again, and a murmur of voices—low and short—ere the ladder creaked and Fardhan appeared.

"Hey, Aetho," he murmured.

"Put tha's supper on the sill," Aethrin replied, gesturing towards it. Fardhan glanced up at it, and he sighed.

"Should've eaten it tha's self," he said.

"Tha's got t' eat, too," Aethrin replied. "More, even." A pause. "It's good."

Another sigh, but Fardhan went and retrieved the bowl, then came and sat beside him as he set to work on the rabbit. "So," he asked around a mouthful, "what'd he want? He say anything?"

"Lots. Talked to Mam lots. Talked about the pretender's men and the Rangers fightin' them off."

Fardhan snorted. "Bet he did! He say anything else?"

Aethrin hesitated, for he knew perfectly well what his brother was driving at, and knew very well Alweth was right: Fardhan would not be pleased to hear it. "Wants to come back tomorrow. Says he an' Mam have things to talk about still."

"He thinks that, does he?" his brother muttered darkly. The bowl clattered on the floor beside him. "Thinks it's that 't'easy t' buy us, eh?"

"Mam wants him back," Aethrin murmured.

"No, no 't'ent him she's got 't'a want for," Fardhan replied, his voice low and certain.

"I dunno, Fardho. Sounds to me like it 'tis."

"No, it 't'ent," came the quick, unwavering response. A pause, then: "Get some sleep, Aetho. I'll just finish this downstairs an' come right back up."

With that, Fardhan disappeared once more, but Aethrin lay for long alone in the darkness, and he'd no need of an ear pressed to the floor to hear the low, intense exchange between mother and brother, which grew in volume until a door opened and shut, and the two of them took it outside. But still, he could hear the sharp murmur of their voices through the walls, and he sighed and pressed his hands over his face.

At length, he heard the door again, and after a time, Fardhan returned. His brother said nothing, just undressed and lay down beside him. But the silence felt heavy with anger, and as Aethrin nestled up to him, throwing an arm over his brother's chest, he could feel the swift beat of his heart.

 

The next day was much like the previous two, though Aethrin did not wake quite as hungry, thanks to Calandil's visit. But the tension between Alweth and Fardhan was a tangible thing; breakfast was subdued, and Aethrin dreaded the end of the day. He would more gladly, he thought, have hauled ploughshares than see the sun sink below the horizon, save that even fear of what the evening might bring had less hold on him than hunger.

"Least tha’s getting fed," Meithel said of the matter, when the girls appeared with their baskets of bread about noon and all those working the field broke for lunch.

"Thought tha didn’t like Westshoremen," Aethrin retorted.

"Ent got t’ like them to eat their food. Told tha, I’d gamble with ‘em for it," Meithel replied, then his voice went sly as he said, "No sense turning the nose up, eh, Gilly?"

Aethrin looked up just to find Gilriel standing there, nearly empty basket in hand. She sighed exasperatedly. "What now, then?" she demanded.

"Food’s food. Eat it if tha can get it, wherever it’s from," Meithel said.

"Well, surely!" she replied, though she eyed him and Aethrin still, sensing some jest or by-play she was missing. "You’re playing me, lag-abouts, I’ll be feeding this to others," she threatened, holding up two pieces of flatbread, and jerking away when Meithel made a snatch.

"Never thought such," Aethrin hastened to placate her. Gilriel gave him a hard-eyed stare.

"Tha’s got ‘t’a problem with my cooking an’ sharing with tha," she began, clearly still suspicious, but Aethrin shook his head vigorously.

"Ent ‘t’about tha," he said, and gave Meithel a light smack in the arm. "Tell her, Meitho, I’m hungry here!"

"Just talkin’ about Rangers," Meithel said.

"Rangers?" Gilriel replied, glancing from one to the other, and her tone made it plain that this answer had done naught to reassure her. If anything, it seemed to heighten her wariness, as she demanded, "What ‘t’of them?"

"Bringin’ gifts," Aethrin sighed. "There’s the one keeps coming round Mam."

"Eh. ‘Calandil,’ ent it?" Gilriel said archly, and Aethrin nodded.

"Aye, that’s the one. Came by last night. Brought supper. Fardho wouldn’t ‘t’eat with him."

"Mad like a flea-bit dog," Meithel opined.

"Plenty of folk in town would take Fardhan’s side," Gilriel said, uneasily.

"Not me," Meithel declared, earning a pair of annoyed looks from both Aethrin and Gilriel.

"Tha ent got t’ worry about ‘t’anything," Gilriel retorted, with sudden heat. "Tha’s got family can take tha in still if coin falls short, as looks likely. Not hide nor hair of those northern Rangers yet, ‘t’and we’re ploughing already. What ‘t’about the rest of us, then, that ‘t’ent got ‘t’anyone?"

"Dunno. Tha’s going to feed us, or what?" Meithel demanded. Gilriel rolled her eyes, but she did hand over the flatbread, though not without a parting shot:

"Got ‘t’an extra stomach where tha should have had a heart, Meitho!" she snapped. Then, speaking to Aethrin: "Don’t know how tha stomachs that one!" So saying, she departed to see to others. Meithel was already tearing into his bread, though he was grinning, too. Aethrin shook his head.

"She’ll kill tha one day, Meitho, tha knows it."

"Ent done it yet."

"Aye, but tha keeps at her so, she will," Aethrin pointed out.

"Huh. Ent ‘t’even up to being straight with folk lately," Meithel snorted. "She’ll not kill me. Ent lady-like. Tha heard her, eh? Nice as milk to tha, soundin’ all worried. What’s that, then, eh? Somethin’ on her mind, and years past, she’d’ve said it. Not ‘t’anymore."

"She’d’ve put ‘t’a fist in tha’s face, too," Aethrin reminded him, but Meithel merely shrugged.

"Straight, like I said," was his untroubled reply. "Were me, I’d save being milk for Rangers. Might just do it tonight—if they ent so busy talking, maybe one’ll want to dice. Unless tha wants t’ ask me for supper?"

"Eh. He might not ‘t’even come," Aethrin replied, and ignored Meithel’s skeptical look in favor of simply stuffing the rest of his flatbread into his mouth. "C’mon," he mumbled, as he bent to pick up the harrows again. "Dicing or dining, we ent seein’ any Rangers ‘til we’re done."

But Calandil did, indeed, return for supper, this time bringing a bit of venison to sweeten his reception. Fardhan only gave him a dark look, but he did not leave this time. Nor did he speak. He simply sat and watched, a silent, brooding presence at table that made for a rather subdued atmosphere. Calandil would every so often rest his gaze upon Fardhan, and the two of them would strive for a little while thus, before one or the other looked elsewhere. After supper, Fardhan did the dishes—slowly, carefully, and with a certain amount of repetition. Clearly, he was not about to let Calandil get a word in alone with Alweth.

"Aetho, t' bed with tha," his mother murmured, kissing him on the cheek. "Fardho, I'll do that."

"I've got it, Mam. Tha's done enough today," Fardhan replied.

"Then I'll make tea for us," Alweth said determinedly. "Calandil, if tha likes—"

"Actually," the Ranger said, politely, though he watched Fardhan the while, "I should be heading back. I've an early watch tomorrow. A good night to you all. Alweth, we should speak later on."

"Aye, of course," Alweth replied, and Calandil smiled.

"Good night, lads," he said once more, then bowed to Alweth and departed. Aethrin held his breath, watching as his mother wrung her apron in her hands in an anxious fashion, 'til Fardhan grunted:

"Wants t' be a bed-warmer, he does. Weren't much t' tell him 'no' just now, either."

At that, Alweth turned on him swiftly, her face flushed with anger. "Tha's got no call to speak so of him or me, son! Weren't for tha, there'd be not 't'a thing improper in all of it, but that forked tongue and mood tha's got brooding about would blight 't'a spring season!"

" _Wouldn't_ have any call, but he's here. Ent like he even hides it—he's buying his way in, Mam, bringing supper. And where was he, eh, all these years past when he could've been a help to us?" Fardhan demanded.

"He's here _now_ , or would be if it 't'weren't for tha," Alweth retorted bitterly.

"Aye, he knows it's got desperate round here lately an' a wife's to have cheap for some rabbits," Fardhan countered. "Cheap as the girls Westshore sid—" Before he could finish, however, Alweth was across the kitchen to slap him so hard it turned his head and left a red mark upon his cheek.

"And I've got boys to raise, an' I'll not hear them put their tongues to such thoughts!" she said vehemently into the silence. "Tha'll not speak such filth under my roof again, Fardhan. And in front of tha's brother, too!" She shook her head disgustedly, then turned suddenly upon Aethrin, as if reminded of his presence. "Ent 't'I told tha get t' bed?" she demanded.

"Yes, Mam!" Aethrin said quickly, and hurried up the ladder, eager to avoid a hiding. He half expected Fardhan to follow shortly, but it seemed the recent break in the argument was but an interlude, not an end. Before long, they were at it again, and Aethrin pressed his hands over his ears, trying not to listen, wishing not to hear. Yet it was useless. Dimly through the floor and fingers he could just make out the words:

"—don't know why tha can't be decent t' him, Fardhan!"

"He ent decent with tha!"

"Ent nothin' tha's father an' I never did while courting, and just shut tha the mouth now, tha's but fifteen years, Fardhan! Tha'll not be telling me what's decent with a man. Calandil's got 't'a good heart, 't'and he'd take care of you."

"We take care of ourselves."

"Ne, lad, that 't'ent so. We scrape by, an' it's gettin' worse each year. Tha knows it! Tha sees it! We're all weary with worse, an' it hurts some more than others. Ne, look at me! Tha wants to say we ent got 't'a need for help, tha looks me in the face an' says Aethrin's all right!" Alweth's voice was thick with emotion that made Aethrin flush for shame. "Look at him! An' Meithel! Look at the lads—they ent 't'eating right, they ent growing right. We've had three years of bad rains and frosts on top of debt, Fardho. The girls are gaunt 't'as poles in this village!"

"I'll take care of him—" Fardhan began to say, but Alweth would have none of it.

"Ne, tha _can't_ , Fardho," she interrupted him. "Tha tries, but tha can't! Ent many can do right by him; I can't, 't'and I'm his mother," came the bitter, vehement retort. "It's ten years I'm a widow this fall. Tha's father is dead, an' I've his boys to feed, but shame cover me over, I can't do it!" Alweth paused, seeming to try to collect herself a moment, ere she continued in a lower voice: "But Calandil could do it. If he asks, well then, I'd be a fool not t' think on it. And I'll neither raise fools nor be one, Fardho. So hold tha that tongue—'t'ent for tha to think on, it's for me."

"Mam," Fardhan protested, sounding desperate.

"I'll not be talking further on it with tha, Fardhan. Save t' say that Calandil can keep us. He likes Aethrin, and he'll not trouble tha, so long as tha keeps a straight tongue. He wants me to wife, he'll raise Aethrin right, be a father t' him like he never had." She paused, then finished: "Tha loves Aetho, tha should see what's best for him. Now, to bed! There's still ploughing t' do morning next."

Silence fell once more, broken only by the sound of someone—Alweth, most likely—moving about downstairs, moving through the soothing ritual of tidying up (though surely there must be nothing left to tidy) before she went to her bed. Aethrin, meanwhile, lay in the dark, seized by the strangest feeling. It made him feel all hot and hollow, like a great earthen jug in the summer's sunlight. He sniffled and wiped at his nose, blinking away unexpected tears as he tried to puzzle it all out.

Eventually, Fardhan did join him, coming up the ladder slowly, and his tread was heavy on the floor. But he did not come to bed; instead, he went over into the furthest corner and sat down there in the darkness. Aethrin waited for some time, listening to the stillness of the house and the sound of leaves rustling in the forest that pressed close about the village. But at last, when he could no longer bear the silence, he whispered, hesitantly, "Fardhan? Tha's all right?"

"Should be sleeping, Aetho," came the low reply.

With a sigh, Aethrin tossed the covers aside and crawled quietly over to join him, wedging himself up into the corner between the wall and Fardhan's side, and he huddled against his brother. "Can't sleep," he murmured. "It's too cold by myself."

Fardhan sighed, but he tucked Aethrin under his arm, and guided Aethrin's head to his shoulder, stroking his fingers through his younger brother's hair moodily. Aethrin said nothing, just waited until at length, Fardhan shifted a bit, and said softly, "Mam's really worried, that's all."

"Tha's worried, too," Aethrin pointed out.

"Mm."

"Been worried a long time."

"Things've been bad a long time."

"They gonna get better soon, tha thinks?" Aethrin asked, voicing a long unasked question.

"Dunno. Maybe." A pause, then: "Got to get better."

"Why?" It was genuine curiosity, and his brother shrugged helplessly.

"Because. Just have to," he replied, sounding a little uncertain.

"Fardhan?"

"Aye?"

"What did tha mean, about the girls on the Westshore side being cheap?" he asked, and felt the mood grow disinctly uncomfortable.

"Just they marry worse than they could."

"That 't'ent what tha said."

"What 't'I meant, though."

Aethrin frowned, thinking a moment of the coins that came over the river sometimes, and of Alweth's reproach. "Doesn't seem so bad a marriage, if they're sending coins back home. Or a filthy thing, either." His brother sighed.

"Should go t' bed, Aetho," he chided gently. And though he was clearly trying to change the subject, Aethrin let it go, sensing it would go badly to ask further.

"Ent tired yet," he replied.

"Will be tomorrow."

"I know."

For a time after that, they said nothing, and Aethrin sat nestled against his brother, his eyes heavy-lidded as he struggled against telltale yawns and the soothing nothing sleep promised. Finally:

"Fardho?"

"Aye?"

"Tell me a story," Aethrin begged.

"What 't'about?"

"Tell me about Da," he said unhesitatingly.

"Told tha everything before, Aetho."

"Tell me again."

Fardhan sighed once more, but after a moment, he began. "Saw him last day he left with the other men. They were goin' to Pelargir first, then up the river with the fleet. Mam's eyes were all red—heard her cryin' all the night before, an' him talkin' to her. I liked his voice. Sort 't'of... treeish. Deep, like the drums made out 't'of the stumps. Dunno how to tell tha. Used to get 't'all soft-like, when he was talkin' to tha, just him and tha. Used to take me to the shore to put long lines out, though I could hardly pull 'em in if we caught much. Taught me t' make bait and mend nets an' what kind of fish t' catch. Helped me make my first snapleg trap, too. Sometimes," Fardhan's voice grew lighter, then, and Aethrin could hear the smile in it, "sometimes he'd catch me up and throw me in the river, just t' laugh. And he taught me t' find my way in the woods.

"'Tha can learn a forest, tha can find tha's way through anything,' he said. Didn't want me lost—ever. Not 't'ever, an' it's not just trees that lose tha in 'em. Learned that later—there's more than one kind of forest, 't'and he wanted me t' know I could find a way through any of 'em, if I kept my head. Been tryin' to ever since," Fardhan murmured.

 _Fardho's like his Da,_ Alweth's voice sounded in Aethrin's memory. _Growing up knowing his Da was gone an' he'd to do his duty by us, stand in his Da's shoes—'tis hard for him._ Aethrin laid a hand upon his brother's knee, gave it a pat. "Eh," he grunted, "tha's still got 't'a head on tha's shoulders. A fat head sometimes," he added, and smiled a little, even as Fardhan groaned and gave him a shove, "but 't'is a head still!"

"Should use that tongue to catch snaplegs!" his brother growled, and Aethrin giggled. But then he felt Fardhan's hand over his, and they fell silent once more for a time, 'til at length Fardhan spoke again.

"He left 't'us not 't'a month after tha was born," he said softly. "He held tha every night he was here. And he told me, when he left, that 't'was for me to take care of tha and Mam. Used t' wonder if he knew he wasn't comin' back that day. Elders say the vale folk got their own sight. Not like the Dúnedain, but it tells us things sometimes. Maybe it came on Da that day, and that's why..."

Fardhan trailed off into an anxious, preoccupied silence once again. Aethrin closed his eyes, and he yawned, eliciting a grunt from his brother. "Tired now, eh?" he asked. Aethrin nodded.

"Aye."

"Then to bed. Come on," he coaxed, rising and drawing Aethrin with him to their mattress. Aethrin wearily crawled back beneath the covers, and Fardhan joined him shortly, spooning up against his back. Warmed by his brother's arms about him, and worn out with the day's tensions and labors, sleep came calling swiftly. But before it overcame him, he muttered:

"Ent 't'ever been lost with tha about, Fardho. Wouldn't want Calandil for a da; got tha already." With that, he fell asleep.

Fardhan, however, lay quietly awake, holding his brother tightly in his arms while the moon charted his course across the nightsky. At length, however, he, too, yawned, exhausted. But as he settled down to rest, pulling the blankets up a little higher about himself and Aethrin, he said softly, "Don't tha worry the head, Aetho. He'll not be da to tha ever. We ent that lost yet. Not yet."


	4. King's Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace. Land. Life. Loyalty.

_'Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the House of Elendil, to the king of this realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end.'_  
  
—oath of royal service, Gondor, the Third Age  
  
  
 _Wisdom! Give us wisdom, O Giver of Gifts!  
Make wise our hearts and ways,  
Let us not fall again, yet again, into darkness!_  
  
—traditional Haradric prayer  
  


***

The days that followed were uncertain, plagued with doubt and anxiety, as the folk of the Eastshore hurried to put their crops to bed while looking north over their shoulders. _Everyone_ was worried, looking to their larders and their purses, both more empty than they ought to be even for spring, and wondering what would become of them if the Rangers didn't come. Nor were evenings any relief now, either, or at least, not for Aethrin. There was the dread of finding Calandil waiting for them, and Fardhan's mood was blacker than ever, so that Aethrin feared to know what might be said one night—said, and irrevocably so, not that Aethrin had such words. But he knew that some things, once said, could not be unsaid, and he did not want to hear such pass between Fardhan and Alweth.

To make matters worse, they had scarcely been at their ploughing two weeks than the skies darkened and ominous clouds began to drift in from the east off the Ephel Dúath. "Cursed Shadow Mounts!" folk muttered, hoping this would not be a fourth year of near-flooding to stunt their harvest and roil the rivers.

"Ent gonna be anything worth selling if these let fall on us," Meithel muttered, as he and Aethrin dragged their harrows back to the sheds, to store against the possibility of rain.

"What'll you do if there's naught?" Aethrin asked.

"Well, Gilly’s right ‘t’about family. Dalaphel's husband and my cousins'll take us a year—can help out my aunt, while he and the boys go to Pelargir, or maybe down a ways in the Ethir, if someone'll take them on," Meithel said, and shrugged. "Suppose I might go with 'em, if Mam wanted me to."

"Good of tha's aunt 't'and uncle, that 't'is," Aethrin said, and his friend shrugged again.

"Lot 't'of folk've done the same already," he replied. Then he wrinkled his nose. "Aunt Dalaphel's quick to pinch the ears, though. Don't much like the thought 't'of bein' under her roof!"

"Would tha want t' go west with tha's cousins and uncle?" Aethrin asked.

"Ne. Would do it if Mam wanted me to, but 't'I told tha: I'm for stayin' in Eastshore! What 't'about tha? Ent got 't'any family here still." Which was true—Faladan and both his brothers had been killed in the war, and both of Aethrin's widowed aunts had left Eastshore, taking his cousins with them. None had heard from them since. As for Alweth, her brother, too, had not come home, and her sister had died in childbirth long before Aethrin had ever known her. _Lot 't'of folk like us,_ Aethrin thought. _Likely as many as are like Meithel. And what'll we all do, if we don't hear from the north soon?_

"Hey. What ‘t’about tha, eh?" came the repeated inquiry, breaking into his anxious reverie.

"I don't know," Aethrin said honestly. Meithel bit his lip, looking worried for once.

"Mal and Fardho are going to Pelargir again, I heard."

"Aye, come week's end. There’s a need for salt soon enough for makin’ soap and suchlike. Ent like we’ve never done ploughing without ‘t’em," Aethrin replied.

"Goes tha with them?"

"Mam said I should learn to do my duty," Aethrin replied. "Fardhan doesn’t much like it, though."

"Gilly said her Mam might send her west. Got 't'an uncle or suchlike about Pelargir."

"Has she? Didn't know that."

"Got the feeling Gilly didn't know it 't'either," Meithel said, frowning worriedly. "Don't much like the sound of that!"

Neither did Aethrin, especially thinking on what Fardhan had said (and refused to say) the other night about the girls on the Westshore. But despite that, he couldn't quite forbear to jest, "A moment, Meitho. She _told_ tha all that?"

"There's something, eh?" Meithel said, with a slight grin, though he seemed still worried. "Caught her skulking out by the Ranger barracks."

"Out bein’ milk, like tha said?" Aethrin asked, and got a shrug. "What was she doin' there, then?"

"What's Alweth doing round Calandil, eh?" Meithel said significantly, and Aethrin winced. "Don't know as she fancies a one of 'em, but... She'd stay in Eastshore, most like, if she caught 't'an eye or two—that's what she said."

"And she just told tha everything, straight like?" Aethrin demanded, incredulous and more than a litte suspicious.

"Well, of course not!" Meithel said, and snorted. "Had to scuffle with her first. Finally got her claws out 't'again," he said, proudly.

"That's what that is, then?" Aethrin asked, indicating the scratch marks and bruise Meithel sported on his arms and one cheek.

"She gives pretty good for a girl, eh?" Meithel said, grinning toothily a moment, before his mirth quite uncharacteristically faded. "Aye, we fought 't'a bit, and then all of a sudden, like, she started cryin' and talkin'. Ent 't'ever seen the like from her."

This was worse than Aethrin had imagined. _Gilriel, crying?_ It hardly seemed possible, but if it were true, and her mother had thought to send her away... _Her blood's here_ , Fardhan had said, and said also that Gilriel would go to Pelargir if it were needed. _Maybe not,_ Aethrin thought. _Or maybe,_ he amended to himself, thinking of his mother and Calandil, and Fardhan's complaints of Westshoremen buying into Eastshore marriages, maybe we've enough of Pelargir here already.

"Tha's going west, ‘t’ent tha?" Meithel's words interrupted his thought, and Aethrin blinked, then gave his friend a confused look, only to find him staring back rather glumly. "Tha's going, eh?"

"Fardhan says no," Aethrin replied, but then finished, "I should try, though. Like as not they won't want me, but 't'I haven't 't'any thought how Fardhan's saying 'no' puts more coin in our purse than me working over there. Even if it 't'ent much, it's more than nothing."

"If tha and Gilly go, 'twill be dull round here."

"Eh. Likely have to wait 'til Fardho goes north anyway to try. And who knows? Like as not, they really won't want 't'any of us. Ent fond of Eastshoremen across the water, that's sure!" Aethrin replied.

Meithel gave a disdainful snort. "Eh, that's Westshoremen for tha," he said disgustedly. "Throwin' good coin in the weeds!"

Which was purely contrary of him, Meithel wanting to see nothing of worth go across the water, but Aethrin would not argue with him about it. Not when he thought of the Charter Tax, or of the danger that threatened all Eastshoremen taken north. Better to find work in Pelargir, if one could find it. At least one got coin for _all_ one's pains, not just for some of them, and for fewer of them each year.

Of course, there were other ways out of their troubles, too—Rangers, like all soldiers, did not pay the Ship Tax. Aethrin, watching as Calandil chatted up Alweth at table, could hardly avoid memory of his mother's bitter words, not with Fardhan looking grimly on. Aethrin kept his head down and concentrated on swallowing, on trying to quell the odd flutter inside of himself, and that made him feel vaguely sick. Which was also contrary—there was nothing wrong with supper, and Aethrin ought to be glad to have it, even if Calandil were bringing it.

"Just that it makes me feel strange, like," Aethrin tried to explain one evening, when Fardhan questioned him about it. His brother had noticed him picking at his food earlier.

"Strange?" Fardhan echoed.

Aethrin shrugged. "Just... like I'm all over heavy, and... and naked! Shouldn't 't'anybody feel that way," he said, blushing. His brother only sighed and gave him a wordless pat upon the back before sending him off to bed.

The end of the week dawned cool and cloudy, but still, the rain held, and so Fardhan announced that he and Malgath would indeed head down to Pelargir that day.

"Make a last run before the Rangers come," he said. "Maybe find work to keep us."

"Tha should take Aetho—" Alweth began, but Fardhan shook his head.

"If I’m gone, tha’ll have a need for him here. And they'll not be taking him anyway, Mam. If tha can tell me to think of his own good, then tha knows it’s true and tha knows why," Fardhan said steadily. Alweth's lips thinned, but after a moment, she bowed her head, apparently accepting that rebuke for once. "Don't wait for me this eve—might be awhile in Pelargir," he said, as he quickly folded up a bit of flatbread in a kerchief.

"Can help tha with a trap, at least," Aethrin offered. "Set one out last night, since tha said tha was going."

"Ent 't'a need, I can hand—" Fardhan began, but Aethrin was already on his feet and heading for the door.

"Won't take a moment," Aethrin told him, hurrying on his way.

"See that it doesn't," Fardhan called after him. Aethrin did not reply, but simply dashed down towards the riverbank and the tree, where the traps were laid, and once there, began reeling his in. There were a few more snaplegs within it than last time, which was good, and he hurried downstream to meet up once more with Fardhan and Malgath.

"Here, Fardho," he said, handing them over. "Give tha good morning, Mal."

"Hey, Aetho," Malgath said, as he eased the boat off the shoals and into the shallows. "Give that here," he prompted Fardhan, who handed the trap over. "Sure tha's not 't'a want to come with us?"

"Fardho won't let me," Aethrin replied.

"Because there ent 't'even work for us," Fardhan said.

"Ah, Fardhan, have tha some heart, eh? He's right here," Mal protested. But Aethrin merely shrugged.

"It's true, though," he said, looking from Mal to Fardhan. "They don't want me there."

"An' that's some luck for tha, lad," his brother sighed, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Now list tha a moment. There's plenty of work needs doing, but there's a thing I want seen to, and I want tha t' promise me 'twill be done. Hear?"

"What 'tis it?" Aethrin asked, brow furrowing, concerned and surprised, both at once.

Fardhan took a quick glance round, then leaned down to say in a low voice, "Now I'm off to Pelargir, it's a perfect time for that Calandil t' come sniffing round Mam. And tha knows now what he's after. I want tha t' promise tha'll not let that happen—he ent 't'askin', because he ent getting any time alone with Mam. There's no need for him. Tha hears me?"

"Well, aye, but how am I stopping him?" Aethrin demanded.

"Tha'll find a way. Tha's clever, ent that so?" Fardhann asked, turning a pointed look upon his brother, who rolled his eyes.

"Not _that_ clever, and I heard what Mam said, too, that night!" Aethrin protested. But then he sobered and drew himself up a bit. "I'll try, Fardho. But best tha hurries home."

Fardhan grunted at that. "Come home when I can. Just tha mind me now, eh? Tha's promised, don't forget!"

"Won't," Aethrin assured him, and felt his brother's hand tighten on his shoulder, 'til it hurt, even. "Aiya, Fardho! Need that 't'arm, I do!"

"Sorry, lad," Fardhan apologized, moving instead to clap him on the back, then ran his hand brief and swift through Aethrin's hair, before he moved to join Malgath in the shallows. "Go tha good this day, Aetho!"

"Give you both good day!" Aethrin called back, waving as the two of them shoved off and climbed into the boat, paddling out into the center of the river before turning to make their way downstream. Aethrin stood upon the riverbank for a time, watching, then slowly turned away.

With Fardhan away, Aethrin ended up with a seed satchel round his neck and the harrow harness over his shoulders, scattering seed as he trudged along, so that Alweth could take Fardhan’s place on the plough. Meithel would wave at him sometimes from up ahead, by way of encouragement or friendly mockery, he knew not.

Noon came, and with it, a pause for such lunch as might be had. The girls came out, then, bringing their morning’s labor for all to partake of.

"Here," said a familiar, if somewhat subdued, voice, and Aethrin, who was disentangling himself from the harrows’ harness, looked up to find Gilriel standing before him, holding out a piece of flatbread.

"Thanks," he replied, accepting it gladly. Somewhat to his surprise, she folded down next to him, sitting on the edge of the newmade furrow. "Ent tha got ‘t’others to see to?" he asked.

"Meithel can wait ‘t’awhile, the lout," she replied, casting a dark look in his direction. Aethrin swallowed a mouthful of bread, giving her a sideways look.

"What’s it now?" he asked.

Gilriel flushed a little. "Ne. Nothing." A pause, then: "He told tha anything lately?"

"Told me how he got ‘t’all bruised up an’ scratched," Aethrin replied, and she sighed angrily.

"He would!"

"Well… he’s my friend. An’ he was worried, is all."

"That one, worried?" She scowled. "What’s he got t’ worry him? Got ‘t’a place, family he knows. Ent ‘t’anything t’ trouble him that ent been troubling us all these years past."

"I meant he was worried about tha leavin’. Thought it wasn’t right, sendin’ tha over t’ some uncle or cousin tha ent ‘t’ever heard of. Didn’t like tha bein’ upset."

"He told tha that?" This, with a frankly skeptical look.

"Didn’t have to tell me. Was on his face," Aethrin replied, truthfully. Gilriel grunted, perhaps a little thoughtfully, and after a few minutes more of silent sitting, she reached over and patted his arm.

"Got ‘t’a few pieces left. Suppose I should feed him," she said, by way of excuse. "Go tha good."

"Tryin’," he replied, watching as she made her way over to Meithel and a few of the other boys with her bread. He sighed, glancing mournfully down at his own nearly devoured piece. "Trying," he repeated softly to himself.

And try he did, for the next couple of hours. But about mid-afternoon, the clouds lowered, and rain began to fall—big, fat drops that at first were few and far between, but as the day wore on, they grew steadier. At last, as drizzle gave way to a soaking, folk began to head back to put the oxen in their stalls and the ploughs and harrows in their sheds. Meithel and the other boys who had been planting ended up with rags, drying off the metal bits that they might not rust.

Aethrin, however, because of his labor, was excused from such duty, and he hurried home, doing his best once he got there with a rag and rainwater to get the worst of the mud off of himself.

"Would be today it rains," he complained, as he and Alweth dried themselves off. "Think Fardho and Mal should come home tonight?"

"Might, if it lets up, or if they were on the water already," his mother replied. Then she sighed and went to the wood box and took out an armful of sticks and deadwood, which she brought back to the hearth. "Matches, Aetho, please, and then go tha and find the netting. Might ‘t’as well be sure there’s naught needs mending."

Thus they passed the afternoon, mother and son sitting before the fire and carefully going over the net lines. It was dull, tedious work, but there was something to be said for it after a day mostly spent ploughing. With the rain beating steady on the roof and the glow and heat of the fire, Aethrin could almost have fallen asleep, for fingers knew their task and kept on without much thought. But hunger still pressed sharp, and its growls and writhing within him kept him awake.

At last, after a particularly noisy rumbling, his mother laid her netting aside and rose. "Best ‘t’I see to supper," she said, even as Aethrin blushed. "Move a bit for me, but keep tha at it."

"Aye, Mam. Sorry," Aethrin replied. Alweth winced.

"Naught t’ be sorry over," she said. "Just see tha to the nets. We’ll want them soon enough."

To that, Aethrin said nothing, only bent over the netting as Alweth moved about the room, humming to herself. But he could not but wonder, in light of the news about Gilriel perhaps leaving Eastshore and Meithel’s family moving in with an aunt, whether they really would be needing the nets. _Suppose we might go lookin’ for my aunts, if it got bad. Worse,_ he amended. And there was always the chance they might end up in Pelargir, or that he might. _Just because Fardho gets work there, if he does, doesn’t mean I might not have t’ go, too._ Ship Tax and Charter Tax being what they were, it might not be enough one day to have Fardhan over there…

But he said nothing of such thoughts, and instead struggled to concentrate on his mending, despite worry and hunger. Meanwhile, the storm outside grew worse.

"Think it’ll pass by tomorrow?" he asked Alweth, when a low rumble of thunder shook the house.

"Storm always passes," came the low-voiced reply, as Alweth brought her pot to hang over the fire. Then she seated herself again across from him and took up another end of the netting once more.

Night drew on, and the scent of soup filled the house: stew of a sort, with a little bit of dried fish crumbled in it, and also flatbread to thicken it, and some of the dried herbs. "Calandil coming over again?" Aethrin asked at one point.

"Don’t know. ‘Tis wet ‘t’out—folk shouldn’t have to be about," Alweth replied, abandoning her repair work to attend their supper for a moment.

"Ent much for tha if he won’t get ‘t’a little wet to come see tha," Aethrin dared to say, and got a very flat look from his mother.

"Don’t tha start!" she said, sharply, and Aethrin hung his head.

"Sorry, Mam."

"Ought to be," Alweth sniffed, as she stirred the pot. But after a little while, she sighed. "Aetho, tha’s got to understand, there’s things a body can’t choose in life. Things happen, bad and good, and sometimes they go together." A warm hand touched his chin, and Aethrin lifted his face to look up at her. "I know what Fardhan tells tha," she said. "But Calandil and me, it’s good from bad, if he’s for marrying me. Ent ‘t’about tha’s father anymore."

"I know that," Aethrin said quietly, straightening a bit to ask bravely, "It’s about me, ent it?"

"’Tis about ‘t’all of us," Alweth said, but too late. Aethrin had heard the telltale hesitation, brief as it was. And he saw the realization in her face: the knowledge of knowledge wounded, and the tightness of hurt pinched her brow and mouth then. He looked away, feeling his eyes sting.

"Oh, Aetho." Alweth’s voice was sad and soft, but there was no yielding in it as she said,"Look me straight, lad." The habit of obedience would not let him refuse, and so he raised his eyes once more to hers. She gave him an unhappy smile for that. "Aetho, tha’s got to see that—" she began, but then stopped suddenly, going absolutely white, as the sound of a bell ringing wildly cut through the rain.

"Somebody’s on the alarm?" Aethrin said after a moment, disbelieving. Every town on Anduin had an alarm bell—in the Ethir, and even in Pelargir, there was always the threat of pirates getting bold enough to strike, but even in more northerly villages and towns, the bell served as a warning in case of fast flooding or, east of the river, in case of attack. Ithilien bordered on dangerous lands, after all, and Minas Ithil and Emyn Arnen were not vigilant for nothing. Orcs still lurked, and there were the people of Rhûn, too, whom folk still cursed.

 _And the pretender’s men lately,_ Aethrin thought, feeling a thrill of fear. Could that be why the bell rang? Had the pretender’s men come so far? _Is that why the Rangers haven’t come yet?_ Were the folk of the Eastshore about to get that first messenger that Calandil had spoken of in the form of an invading army?

"Stay a moment," Alweth ordered. "Watch the pot, ‘t’I’ll just go and have a look. Mayhap ‘tis the Rangers they’re ringing in." By her determined tone, it seemed she was trying to make herself believe it. Nevertheless, Aethrin nodded, if mechanically, and moved to take her place, though he but held the spoon loosely in his hand, watching as Alweth got a lamp down and a shawl, which she wrapped about herself and over her head. She lit the candle, then cracked the door, peering out a moment before she hurriedly made her way down to the town yard.

Almost as soon as she was gone, Aethrin abandoned the stew and scurried to the door, hanging on the post. Out in the yard, he could see lamps converging, as the folk of the Eastshore, drawn by the clamor, emerged from their homes, hesitantly at first, but then seeing their fellows, with more speed. The lamp by the bell was lit, too, and there were several green cloaks standing beneath it, adding to its brightness with their own lanterns.

But the Rangers were not the ones sounding the alarm. It was hard to be certain, in the darkness and at such a distance, but it almost looked like… _Mal?_ Aethrin thought, squinting, even as he felt his heart flutter. A moment he hesitated, and then swiftly he went to grab a rag, which he used to grasp the handle of the pot and carefully lift it from the hook down onto the hearth, so it would not burn or boil over. Then throwing it aside, he darted out the door in his mother’s wake.

It was indeed Mal on the bell, he saw, as he drew nigh, and by the time he arrived, folk were starting to call questions: "What matter, lad?" "Why’s tha drawn us out, ‘t’a night like this?" "Speak up, lad, tell us the tale an’ make it good!"

Malgath ceased his frantic ringing, but he was pale and sounded almost breathless, still, as he answered: "It’s the pretender!" he gasped, as murmurs went around the crowd. "He’s come back! Been all over the north, he has, so I heard it ‘t’over in Pelargir. Got ‘t’a lot ‘t’of his folk with him."

As Malgath spoke, Aethrin was dimly aware of others’ reactions—the shock, and the fear; he was aware of Gilriel, edging her way forward, her eyes wide, and of Meithel, staring at Malgath, mouth agape. He could see the elders huddled together, whispering to each other, and the younger men of the town gazing nervously about. The Rangers were talking amongst themselves, hands tight upon their sword hilts. But bad as the news was, there was but one question he wanted answered, though he could not bring himself to ask it.

He did not have to, however, for Alweth stepped forward, her back rigid, as she demanded, "And where’s my son, then, Malgath? Tha was with him today in Pelargir—why ent he here to tell us of this?"

Mal swallowed hard, and if possible, he went even paler. "Fardho… he’s, ah…" he stammered.

"Tha’ll tell me straight, Mal," Alweth snapped. "Where is he?"

"He’s with the King’s Men," Malgath said hoarsely.

"What?!" Aethrin could not contain himself, and he shoved through the press to the front. "What’s that, then?"

"He took up with the navy soon’s we got there. Wasn’t looking for dock hire. Most like, he’ll ship out tomorrow," Mal explained nervously, glancing between Aethrin and Alweth.

"With the navy?" Alweth repeated, dully, shaking her head. "With the _navy_? Can’t be with the navy—he ent got ‘t’any liking for them! Not for any greencoats or King’s Men!"

"Alweth," a new voice murmured, and Aethrin blinked, realizing for the first time that Calandil was present, and had left his fellows to move to Alweth’s side.

"He ent with them!" she repeated. "Can’t be!"

"Said it ‘twas the only way," Malgath continued, and Aethrin felt that awful, hollowing-out feeling creep over him again.

"No," she repeated. Then again, more forcefully, as she pulled away from Calandil, who was trying to comfort her: "No! Don’t tha lay hand on me now! I can’t."

"Alweth, I—"

"I know, I know. But ‘t’ent decent, when it’s on account ‘t’of us he’s gone westside," she replied, her face wet with rain or else with tears, it was impossible to say.

"Listen to me, Alya, the choice was his—"

"Choice ent part ‘t’of this," said another voice, then, as other voices began to sound.

"The pretender’s men are comin’, they’ll sweep through here like plague—"

"She’s right—‘t’ent ‘t’a choice in it, they’ll come for us."

"Then are we sendin’ our sons west, ‘t’or what’s our place…?"

"Think the crown'd even think t’ send anyone this way? If the Northmen’re comin’, like as not he’ll want the Rangers closer to ‘em, up Emyn Arnen way."

"Got t’ hope that Ship Tax covers us, now, what ‘t’I hear about the pretender’s folk an’ war."

"Calo, he’s my _son_ —"

"Alweth! Alweth!" Gilriel’s high voice pierced the babble, and brought Alweth to her in a hurry, even as Aethrin, who had retreated a ways from the crowd, doubled over and sunk to the earth, his breath coming hard as if he had run for miles, as if there were a weight on his chest crushing the air from him. Nausea made his head spin, but could find only bile to work upon, and he tasted it hot and bitter on his tongue. "Tha’s all right, ‘t’Aetho? Ah, Meithel, don’t be prodding at him!" Gilriel’s voice sounded in his ear.

"Not prodding, shaking," Meithel countered, and resumed doing just that, while Aethrin panted and shut his eyes, struggling between dry heaves to catch his breath.

"Aetho, lad," his mother’s voice murmured worriedly, and her arms slid about his shoulders, drawing him close, even as Gilriel scrambled back, dragging Meithel along with her.

"Can’t breathe," Aethrin managed to croak.

"Surely tha can. Just tha sit ‘t’a moment here," Alweth replied, rocking him gently. Aethrin shut his mouth and concentrated on breathing deep as he could, while his mother murmured encouragement. "That’s my lad. There now, it’s all right."

"No, it ‘t’ent," he whispered back hoarsely. "Fardhan…"

"He’ll be comin’ home soon enough, Aetho. Don’t tha worry—king’s got so many with him, after all," Alweth reassured him.

 _Ent ‘t’a matter of many or few,_ Aethrin wanted to say, but couldn’t seem to force the words out. For he felt himself struck dumb with an awful certainty: _He ent coming back. Fardho ent ‘t’ever coming back. Just like Da._ Just like Faladan, who had ever sought to take care of his family, and come never home again. Aethrin sat limply in his mother’s arms, feeling his heart pounding, sending grief pulsing all through him like a pain, and he felt emptier than even the hungriest of nights.

And: _Sick thing, sick thing, nothin’ but nothing at ‘t’all!_ he thought, for hollow as he felt, he felt still there was too much of him. _Should just disappear!_ But he could not. He had not. And in the end, it likely wasn’t any foresight that gave the force of certainty to conviction, but the ugly, unwanted knowledge that, whatever Alweth might tell Calandil, in the end it was not on their account that Fardhan had gone to the King’s Ships he so loathed. That, in the end, it had always been about him. _Come home when I can,_ Fardhan had said, and left silent when that might be. He wanted to vomit, then, to empty himself out of all he had and more—to rid himself of himself. But horror and hunger were too well rooted in the world for one boy to escape them, though he might gag upon them.

 _And what’s t’ come of it now?_ he wondered, sickly. _Now he’s gone, an' the pretender's back, what’s that to get ‘t’us, even? What happens to us now?_ With an effort, he opened his eyes and gazed at the pale silent faces ringing him: at wizened old Dame Eldrith’s; at Calandil’s taut expression; at Mal’s face, grave at last; and at Meithel’s unwonted anxious look, with his arm awkwardly about Gilriel’s shoulders; and Gilriel herself seemed stricken with horror. So many faces more, and all of them fearful now! _What does happen now? What becomes of the likes of us?_ he demanded of the unfeeling sky.

But the thunder was muted, and the night gave no answer.


	5. Annals of the Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace. Land. Life. Loyalty.

'Thus Castamir had been king only ten years, when Eldacar, seeing his time, came with a great army out of the North, and folk flocked to him from Calenardhon and Anórien and Ithilien. There was a great battle in Lebennin at the Crossings of Erui, in which much of the best blood of Gondor was shed. Eldacar himself slew Castamir in combat, and so was avenged for Ornendil; but Castamir's sons escaped, and with others of their kin and many people of the fleets they held out long at Pelargir.  
  
'When they had gathered there all the force that they could (for Eldacar had no ships to beset them by sea) they sailed away, and established themselves at Umbar...  
  
'There was much devastation through the land of Gondor in after years, for war continued, hampering rebuilding. Pelargir was laid low, as was the Ethir, and the settlements along the river in these provinces. Dor-en-Ernil's coasts were ravaged, though the prince of that land gained in stature with Pelargir diminished.  
  
'Thus the Northmen who followed Eldacar once more to the South found many steadings to settle in that lay unclaimed, abandoned or with no one living to claim them, for the people had suffered greatly in the upheaval. Some towns rose again, and others fell to the forests or the plains or rivers.  
  
'The true cost of the Kin-strife remains therefore unknown, for the dead and the ruined were in equal measure uncounted and uncountable...'  
  
—Arandil of Minas Anor, Master of the Royal Guild of Scriveners, the year 1510 of the Third Age


	6. Annals of the Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace. Land. Life. Loyalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

'It was in the winter of the year that Valacar died, in the halls of Pelargir, that the southern council met. Then the pact was sealed at last among the contenders: they became confederates in the cause of one elect, in the year of the kings 1432. The Captain of the Ships, Prince Castamir, had the ascendency that day, for even his wife’s father, Lord Vorondur of Pelargir, ceded his place to him, and pledged the support of all his followers to his claim, and Lord Amrazar said only," _I archam ú-ruidathon._ " He would not oppose the rightful heir.  
  
'That very summer, the pretender took the throne, and there was war in Gondor. Those who had sworn their oaths at Pelargir held true to them, and the South upheld the honor and dignity of Gondor’s royal blood, and the people of Gondor were with them. Men of all ranks swore oath and followed Castamir to Osgiliath.  
  
'Thus they had the victory at last, and in 1437, Castamir assumed the throne, and put down the pretensions of the foreign peoples who had sought to rise with the pretender. He restored the Dúnedain to their place, and since then his reign has seen many years of peace… '  
  
—Daerthandur of Umbar, Master of the Royal Guild of Scriveners, 1447 of the Third Age, tenth year of the reign of King Castamir the Bold


	7. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace. Land. Life. Loyalty.

**General Notes** :  
 **1\. Beta-readers:** Many thanks for the helpful comments and feedback of Altariel and Isabeau of Greenlea. All remaining flaws are mine. Dedicated to fliewatuet, whose beta-ing was interrupted by a [happy event.](http://fliewatuet.livejournal.com/21049.html) Finally, thanks to Denise for her eagle-eye where typos are concerned.  
  
 **2\. Title:** "A Very Rain of Sparrows" suggested by Matthew 10: 29-31.  
  
 **3\. Dialect** : As in, 'Why?' It is commonly known that Tolkien's Middle-earth came to be, in a way, because he needed speakers for the languages he created. He also took care to write his characters as speaking in different ways--whether this was shown directly (as in the at least three dialectical variations in Aragorn's speech over the course of the story, or Sam's speech as compared with Frodo's), or whether this is simply noted indirectly (as when it is noted that Éomer uses Westron "in manner and tone like... Boromir, Man of Gondor" ("The Riders of Rohan," TTT, 41), or when Tolkien-the-translator notes in the Appendices that Pippin uses the familiar forms to everyone, including Denethor, which shocks and amazes the Gondorians who assume this means something about his rank in his native country). Tolkien's characters do not have uniform ways of speaking, and the differences are both regional and class-based.  
  
For AVRS, since the characters are very much lower class, and also not Dúnedain, but rather a part of the native Gondorian population (the 'vale folk' as they are occasionally called in this story), it seemed appropriate to try to indicate this through how they spoke. The dialect here is an invention, not based on anything in Tolkien's work. I've tried to make it distinct, but not impossible to read. If it has an American flavor to it, it's because I am one.  
  
 **4\. The Eastshore** : The town is totally fictitious, as are all the 'extracts' from 'official records', and all the social infrastructure (minus that we know, of course, that Castamir had a navy, that his stronghold was the south of Gondor, and that his campaign was pretty racist, which seemed like it ought to remain a factor even after Eldacar was ousted).  
  
 **5\. Castamir, Sorrían, Lord Vorondur, Lord Amrazar** : To my knowledge, there is no name given for Castamir’s wife, though he obviously had one given that he had two sons. There is also no known name for the lord of Pelargir at that time. Lord Amrazar is the fictional ancestor of the family that would eventually become the royal family of Dol Amroth. Also, I hope the real Arandil won't be annoyed that I used her handle for one of my scribes—it was not an intentional borrowing; the name just fits with my intentions.  
  
 **6\. "Annals of the Kings"** : "Annals of the Kings and Rulers" is the title given to much of Appendix A. I've cut "and Rulers" because when these two entries were written, the Stewards had not yet come to power. The two scribes, all of the first "entry," and a large section of the second, are inventions.  
  
 **Notes to "Annals of the Kings" (first entry):**  
 **1.** _"I archam ú-ruidathon"_ : Drawing on Taramiluiel’s "Reconstructed Sindarin Vocabulary" list and [Ardalambion](http://www.uib.no/People/hnohf/sindarin.htm), this is my best effort to have Amrazar say "I will not pursue the throne." Less elegant than "I do not oppose you," but the Sindarin corpus fails me on that count. Thanks to Ithildin and erunyauve for their grammatical assistance.  
  
 **Notes to "The Eastshore":**  
 **1.** " _Name any tree that you love and it shall stand till it dies_ ": This is from " Aldarion and Erendis: The Mariner's Wife," _Unfinished Tales_ , 191  
  
 **2\. Life in a fishing village** : Anything I know about fishing and fishing villages comes from someone else, most especially:  
  
http://www.paauk.com/fishid.htm : This site was one that I had used back in 2005. It has since disappeared into the ether, alas! But it did show pictures of freshwater fish and told me things about where they lived.  
  
[Regia Anglorum - Fishing in Early Medieval Times, by David Green](http://www.regia.org/fishing.htm)  
  
 **3\. Logging/timber** : Anything I know about logging and timber trades comes from these sites:  
  
[ The Northern European Timber Trade in the Later Middle Ages & Renaissance, by Gary R. Halstead](http://www.medievalwoodworking.com/articles/lumber_trade.htm)  
  
[Log Drives (and River Pigs), by the Minnesota Historical Society](http://www.mnhs.org/places/sites/fhc/logdrives.html)  
  
All mistakes about how all these things things work=my own.  
  
 **Notes to "The Weather on the Water":**  
 **1\. Regarding Dor-en-Ernil and the heraldry** : In note 39 to "Cirion and Eorl" in _Unfinished Tales_ , C. Tolkien gives a lengthy explanation of differing accounts of the history of the lineage and title of the royal house of Dol Amroth. Basically, it comes down to this as the most charitable and encompassing interpretation: before the Downfall, there already was a city on the promontory that would one day be called 'Dol Amroth,' and it was always ruled by the family that would eventually become the Princes of Dol Amroth. However, the city itself (and so its royal family) was not known by the name of 'Dol Amroth' until after Amroth's drowning in 1981—over 500 years after the Kin-strife.  
  
For my purposes, I've decided to make use of the fact that there is a province, right next to Belfalas and Dol Amroth, called "Dor-en-Ernil"—the land of the prince. There is only one family in Gondor whose official title apparently is "prince." Therefore, I've made Amrazar "Amrazar of Dor-en-Ernil." I've also retained the device of the silver swan for the main noble house in Dor-en-Ernil, which will eventually give rise to the Princes of Dol Amroth. I assume the family would have the same arms unless there were some really good symbolic/political reason to change them, and having an Elf-lord dive into the sea by your city just doesn't seem like a really good reason.  
  
See _People of Middle-earth_ , 220 ; J.R.R. Tolkien's note 39 of "Cirion and Eorl" in _Unfinished Tales_ ; and C. Tolkien's note on his father's note, same reference, for the whole, confusing mess.  
  
 **Notes to "Daily Bread":**  
 **1\. Agriculture** : Anything I know about agriculture comes from someone else. These three sites in particular:  
  
[Medieval Farming Year, by Andy Staples](http://www.witheridge-historical-archive.com/medieval-year.htm)  
  
[Medieval Life & the Hundred Years War: Society and Culture: Agriculture, by Albert A. Nofi and James F. Dunnigan ](http://www.hyw.com/books/history/Agricult.htm)  
  
[The Medieval Agricultural Year, by Rachel Hartman](http://www.strangehorizons.com/2001/20010212/agriculture.shtml)  
  
All mistakes about how these things work=my own.  
  
 **2\. About politics** : "The Tale of Years" notes that at some point in his reign, Castamir did want to move the throne to Pelargir, being obsessed with naval matters, which caused discontent. The idea that there might have been overtures to the exiled Eldacar from the southern Gondorian lord whose house would one day spawn the royal house of the as-yet unchristened Dol Amroth is a logical extrapolation. Given Castamir's growing megalomania and irresponsibility, it wouldn't be unreasonable to suppose some sort of Eldacar-based resistance were building in such a manner.  
  
 **3\. "The Tale of Frumgar and Fremgang" and the _Chronicle of Eorl_** : the _Chronicle_ is a canonically attested "document" of Middle-earth ("Cirion and Eorl," _Unfinished Tales_ , 309). It is, apparently, a historical narrative about the meeting of Cirion and Eorl, and the founding of Rohan. Encyclopedia of Arda speculates that the chronicle, being a popular Anglo-Saxon form in the real world, might have been created in Rohan by the Rohirrim who were loosely based on Anglo-Saxon society. The date given for its composition is not attested in _Unfinished Tales_.  
  
Frumgar is also canonical: he is the lord of one of the Northmen tribes, and the most remote attested 'ancestor' of the _Éothéod._ Fremgang is not canonical. However, I found this note at the end of the story of Cirion and Eorl:  
  
"After the manner of the Chronicles no doubt much of what is here put into the mouths of Eorl and Cirion at their parting was said and considered in the debate of the night before...", i.e., it's a dramatization of things. Probably there's room to say that some of what they said was just plain made up, as is suggested by the "but it is cetain that Cirion said at parting his words concerning the inspiration of his oath...", which suggests that some of what he is alleged to have said is not certain. See UT, 321.  
  
Given that, I thought I'd take that one step further and have the Chronicle report, in addition to the bits 'reproduced' in _Unfinished Tales_ , a song given in honor of Cirion and Eorl's oath-binding, one that reached back to a previous alliance of Gondor and Northmen tribes, and which very explicitly wrote in a close, blood-tie between Frumgar and an invented founding father of the old Gothic-Northmen who came to Gondor's aid centuries before the Ride of the _Éothéod_.  
  
 **4\. "Gut-thiuda"** : the name the real world Goths used of themselves. Its meaning is unclear, although one going theory is that the word "gut" is related to the word "pour", hence my decision to have them called "River sons" and to suggest a close concern with the river (a concern beyond, of course, the desire to upset Castamir's plans to increase the size of his navy and so support Eldacar's designs).  
  
See: [The Goths](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goths). There are a number of other sites out there that mention this hypothesis, while others just mention that the "gut" in "Gut-thiuda" has an unknown meaning.  
  
 **Notes to "King’s Men":**  
 **1.** _'Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the House of Elendil, to the king of this realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end.'_ —With few changes, this is right out of RoTK, pp. 29-30.  
  
 **Notes to "Annals of the Kings" (second entry):** :  
 **1.** _Thus [Castamir] had been king only ten years, when Eldacar, seeing his time, came with a great army out of the North, and folk flocked to him from Calenardhon and Anórien and Ithilien. There was a great battle in Lebennin at the Crossings of Erui, in which much of the best blood of Gondor was shed. Eldacar himself slew Castamir in combat, and so was avenged for Ornendil; but Castamir's sons escaped, and with others of their kin and many people of the fleets they held out long at Pelargir._  
  
When they had gathered there all the force that they could (for Eldacar had no ships to beset them by sea) they sailed away, and established themselves at Umbar...—Appendix A, ROTK, 367-368. The rest is an invention.


End file.
